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  After some while they turned back towards Conisbrough, walking the horses now. As each step passed, drawing them back towards the village, they grew more sombre. The earl looked as though he wanted to say something, but Robert didn’t press him, waiting instead for his master to speak first. When he did, it wasn’t what the squire expected to hear.

  ‘Something is troubling you.’

  Robert started. Had his face betrayed him? He wondered how to reply. ‘My lord, I …’ what could he say? He supposed he may as well be honest, even if his master didn’t like it. ‘My lord, I must tell you that I can summon no sadness at the Earl of Sheffield’s death.’ There, he’d said it. ‘Yes, it is a shame that any man should die before his time, but although his life has been taken so violently, I feel no particular sorrow. All I feel is that it will cause you a great deal of trouble.’

  The earl said nothing for a moment, seeming to weigh his words. But his reply was encouraging. ‘I’m glad to find you so honest, Robert. And I must also admit that I had little personal feeling for the man.’ He sighed. ‘Perhaps we should say a quiet prayer for his soul when next we have the chance, for the Lord knows he will have need of it, and it may help to banish our uncharitable thoughts.’ Robert nodded, and there was a brief silence between them before the earl continued. ‘But you’re right that it will cause me trouble. I fear that there is some deeper purpose at work here, that his death is also meant to harm me in some way. If we can’t prove otherwise, how am I going to explain to the regent that the man was murdered on my land – even in my home – and that I couldn’t protect him? At the very least, I’m guilty of failing to ensure his safety, but there will be those among my political opponents who will seek to prove that I had him killed for my own purposes. If our new bailiff doesn’t provide me with something to tell the regent, I will be at a sorry pass indeed.’ Almost as an afterthought he added, ‘And of course, this latest death, this soldier – what was his name? – won’t make things simpler. There will be unease among the people. But that can wait: the main thing is to find the murderer of the earl, so that I can try and save some face with the regent.’

  Robert did not know what to say. Eventually, he asked the obvious question. ‘But what will it mean for you, my lord? If the killer isn’t found, what will happen to you?’

  The earl sighed. ‘I honestly don’t know. The regent will never trust me again, for certain, and I will lose any influence I may have had at court. But it could be much worse: I could lose some or all of my lands, even my life. The regent is known for wanting justice for all men and if he finds me guilty of murder, my earldom will not save me.’

  The seriousness of the words bit into Robert and he felt a deep sense of panic at the thought of life without the earl, the man who had guided him throughout his boyhood and youth. It was so unfair that he should suffer for the deeds of another. He felt resolve swelling inside him. ‘My lord, you must know that everyone at Conisbrough is your loyal servant. We all look up to you, not just as our liege lord, but as an example to follow. There are many men here who would happily die for you, should it come down to it.’ He paused, not wanting to sound over-dramatic, but now was a time for plain speaking. ‘My lord, I am one of them, and I swear I will die before I see you lose your lands and position.’

  The fervour in his voice seemed to impress the earl, so he didn’t seek to make a flippant reply or dismiss Robert’s vehemence, as he might sometimes have done. Instead he replied, grimly, ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, then. I would rather have you live for me than die for me.’

  They rode the rest of the way in silence.

  Chapter Eight

  Edwin sat alone in the steward’s office, trying to think. Martin had been called away by the earl; Simon had been summoned by Sir Geoffrey for some sort of lesson, and Joanna had left to tend to her mistress. Initially he welcomed the silence, but now it seemed overwhelming: thoughts ran and jumped through his head as he tried to order them, but he could not. Strangely, he now found himself drawn to the task he’d been trying to avoid for the past few days: looking through the estate’s documents in order to settle the land dispute which was due to come up at the next manor court. It wasn’t as though he had the time to deal with it, what with everything else, but perhaps … perhaps if he concentrated on that for a while, and pushed the other thoughts out of his head, things might become clearer. Or at least he could stop panicking for a while.

  Yes, that was the thing to do. If he was going to be the bailiff, he’d better get used to this sort of thing anyway, as it was one of the duties, normally the one that he relished least. Organising the work of the men of the village was simple enough: they were used to it and had the reeve to oversee them. No, it was the legal part of the job which took up much of his time, for everything had to be correct in the last detail, and the estate’s records were invariably written in a tiny, cramped hand which was difficult to make out, not to mention the fact that some of the scribes seemed to have used a system of obscure abbreviations which he found difficult to decipher. But now the distraction would be welcome. He opened one of the great chests which lined one wall and rummaged inside until he found the documents he was after: two large grants of land which, in minuscule writing, described the exact boundaries of the lands of the two men who were in dispute. He sat down at one corner of the table in order to make best use of the light slanting in through the one small window, and started reading.

  After all the procrastination, it was easier than he’d anticipated. The grants of land were clearer than he’d hoped: the area in question definitely belonged to Aelfrith, one of the disputants. The fact that Aelfrith’s father had let his neighbour use the land while he was alive was neither here nor there; his son had every right to do with it as he willed now that it was his. Satisfied, he rolled up the grants to put them away. All he needed to do now was write down his findings so he could use them at the manor court; he was reaching for pen and ink when Sir Geoffrey strode into the room, with Simon trailing mournfully at his heels. Seeing Edwin he apologised for disturbing him at his labours, but pointed out that there was nowhere else suitable for them to work, given that the earl needed his council chamber to greet his remaining knights as they arrived, and that they couldn’t use the hall lest any food or drink be spilled on the rolled-up parchments which he carried under his arm. Edwin said nothing: Sir Geoffrey was the castellan and could go wherever he liked without needing to ask Edwin’s permission. He moved up closer to the corner to allow the knight more room.

  Sir Geoffrey unfurled the parchments and motioned to Simon to weight down the corners so that they would lie flat. Edwin stole a surreptitious glance at the uppermost document and only just suppressed a gasp at the beauty of it. The page was covered in rows and rows of shields, painstakingly drawn and beautifully coloured, showing what were clearly the arms of various families. He looked down at his own rather scratchy penmanship and wondered how anyone could produce such a marvellous work of art. Oh well, there was no sense in dwelling on that. He had his own work to attend to, even if what Sir Geoffrey was saying sounded far more interesting …

  ‘Now, Simon, it’s very important to be able to recognise these arms straight away.’

  ‘Why?’ The boy was staring at the intricate designs.

  ‘Well, what if your lord should ask you to take a message to the Earl of Chester while you’re all encamped around Lincoln. Do you know what he looks like?’

  ‘No, Sir Geoffrey.’

  ‘Well then. But you don’t need to know the man: if you know what his arms look like you’ll be able to find his part of the encampment, and you will be able to identify his men. And what if you were in a battle? The helmets which everyone wears now cover the whole of a man’s face, but if you can see the arms on his shield you’ll know who he is, will you not?’

  ‘Yes, Sir Geoffrey.’ Simon sat up straighter and looked with more enthusiasm at the parchment as Sir Geoffrey jabbed at the shield at the top, which Edwin
could see was red with three golden lions on it.

  ‘Now, this is the most important one – who do you think it is?’

  ‘The king?’

  ‘Aye, the king. Any castle where he is in residence must fly his arms as well as the owner’s, so important strongholds keep a banner with this design on it.’

  ‘Have we got one?’

  ‘We certainly have. In fact the old king visited here once, oh, must have been fifteen or sixteen years ago now, in the old earl’s time. You wouldn’t have been born then.’

  ‘And even Martin would have been a baby,’ said Simon, amazed at such ancient history. He screwed up his face as he struggled with the arithmetic, ‘and Robert would have been …’

  Four, thought Edwin, he’s the same age as me, and that’s how old I was when the king came to stay. He remembered seeing the king from a distance as his father held him on his shoulders so that he could catch a glimpse. But that was before Robert came, even the nobility don’t send thesir sons away that early in their lives. He came later, was that before or after the old earl died? He couldn’t remember, but it was round about then. And Mistress Joanna arrived not long after, when the Lady Isabelle was widowed – he remembered finding her crying once when Lady Isabelle had been nasty to her, poor little thing. But that was when the earl’s wife was still alive: what a beautiful lady she was, and always smiling …

  Sir Geoffrey was continuing, and with a start Edwin realised the ink had dried up in his pen. Hastily he dipped it again and bent his head over his work, pretending that he wasn’t glancing over at the beautiful parchment as Sir Geoffrey pointed at more shields.

  ‘Now, after the king come the earls. First, the two easy ones. Who is this?’ He indicated a blue and yellow chequered shield which even Edwin recognised.

  ‘My lord!’ Simon looked proudly at the small coloured patch sewn on his own tunic, showing that he was part of the earl’s personal retinue.

  ‘Yes, our lord, the Earl of Surrey. Good. And this?’ Edwin followed the knight’s finger as he pointed at a yellow shield with three red chevrons on it.

  Simon squeaked excitedly. ‘My father!’

  ‘Right again: the arms of de Clare, the Earl of Hertford.’

  ‘But these arms won’t be mine when I’m grown up and a knight, will they? They’ll go to my brother Gilbert, won’t they?’

  ‘That’s right. He’s the heir, so at the moment he will have a label over the arms, and when he inherits from your father he will have them like this, undifferenced. In fact, one day he’ll also become the Earl of Gloucester in right of your lady mother, who is an heiress, so he’ll be an earl twice over, and will also have the right to another set of arms, if he so chooses.’ He pointed to another shield. ‘But anyway, back to our lesson. How many older brothers do you have?’

  ‘Four.’ Simon sounded mournful, but Edwin thought how much fun it must be to have brothers.

  ‘As the fifth son you will have an annulet, a ring, on your arms.’ Sir Geoffrey seemed to be enjoying his explanations, a side of him Edwin had never seen. To him the knight had always been the figure of ultimate authority at the castle – the earl wasn’t there all the time, had other estates elsewhere, and besides, he was far too important a personage for Edwin to think of in any capacity other than as a semi-mythical figure – and it was something of a shock to discover that the intimidating knight could smile and enjoy something as simple as explaining the rules of heraldry to a young boy.

  Sir Geoffrey was pointing at other shields. ‘The Earl of Pembroke – that’s the regent – the Earl of Chester; the Earl of Derby; the Earl of Arundel; the Earl of …’ Edwin tried to concentrate on his writing, but was thwarted once more as he caught the change of tone and the words ‘… the Earl of Sheffield.’ He looked up to see that the knight was no longer smiling.

  Simon seemed to understand the undertone. ‘The man who’s dead. Did you know him, Sir Geoffrey?’

  ‘I met him once or twice when I was campaigning in France with the old earl some years ago, and I knew of him.’ His tone was serious. ‘He was a personal favourite of the old king, and some say that he carried out many of the dark deeds which John wanted done.’ He shook his head.

  Simon seemed on the verge of asking a question, but the knight forestalled him, turning to the second page of the document, which held many more shields. ‘Now, after the earls, some of the lesser barons and knights. Sir Hugh de Lacy – that’s Mistress Joanna’s cousin – Sir Reginald de Braose …’ Edwin made another attempt to return to the task he was supposed to be performing. Now, the piece of land in question is south of the village of …

  ‘Whose are these?’ Simon was pointing to the very bottom of the page, where two coloured shields were pictured upside down with thick black lines through them.

  Sir Geoffrey cleared his throat. ‘Ah, well, that was a bad business …’

  Rolling his eyes at his own inability to concentrate, Edwin gave up on any pretence at working, put his pen down and turned to listen to what was sure to be an interesting story.

  Sir Geoffrey didn’t seem to mind the extra audience. ‘As I say, it was an unpleasant business. These arms belong to two knights, Sir Hugh d’Eyncourt’ – he stabbed his finger at the left-hand shield, which was green with a snarling gold lion’s head emblazoned on it – ‘and Sir Stephen Fitzwalter.’ He pointed at the other shield, which was blue and depicted a silver eagle. ‘Nobody knows exactly what happened, but they both died in separate accidents within a day of each other. Fitzwalter drowned in a river, and d’Eyncourt and his wife and child were killed in a fire. At the time it just seemed unfortunate, but shortly afterwards King John had their estates confiscated and their arms struck dishonourably from the roll, so they’d obviously done something which displeased him greatly.’

  Simon gazed, fascinated, at the shields. So did Edwin: what dark deeds could these men have perpetrated? His mind span with ideas of murder, treason, betrayal …

  Sir Geoffrey was rolling up the parchment and tucking it under his arm as he prepared to leave the room. ‘That’s all for today. We’ll look at this again soon, Simon, and I’ll ask you about the bearers of all these arms, to see how many you can remember. But now I believe you have another reading lesson.’ He shook his head. ‘In my day it was enough that a knight should be able to ride a horse, use a sword and lance, and speak the truth; but today it seems that you must all be learned men as well. Nevertheless, it’s by the earl’s order, so off you go.’

  Simon made a face as he followed the knight out of the room, and Edwin smiled. Then he looked down at the parchment on which he had been writing. His penmanship, never the neatest at the best of times, had suffered from all the interruptions, and the page was so covered in mistakes and blots of ink that it was almost illegible. Sighing, he put it to one side to be scraped clean later, and drew a fresh sheet in front of him to start again.

  Joanna was trying to think of some way in which she might be able to raise Isabelle’s spirits. Her mistress had sat mournfully through the evening meal, hardly noticing the fine food, and had left as soon as it was polite to do so. But what could she do? It struck her that even after all these years she didn’t really know Isabelle all that well, and the thought distressed her. Clearly she hadn’t been a good enough companion. So occupied was she with these thoughts that as she entered the guest quarters she almost collided with Walter de Courteville, who was rounding the corner on his way out. She started back, afraid for a moment that he would repeat his brother’s action of the night before, but he merely stalked past. Joanna wondered if he’d even noticed her presence.

  She opened the door to Isabelle’s chamber and stopped, taken aback. Her mistress was lying on the floor, curled into a ball, weeping as though her heart would break.

  She had to admit that there was a small moment when she was tempted to shut the door and creep quietly away, hoping that she hadn’t been noticed, but the thought was banished almost as soon as it sprang into her mind. I
nstead she shut the door behind her to guard Isabelle’s privacy, and stooped to lift the sobbing woman from the ground.

  ‘There now, my lady, there now. Hush.’ She didn’t know what to say but soothing words found their way to her lips, and she stroked Isabelle’s hair as she tried to lift the shaking body, racked with sobs. Finally the heaving of the shoulders gave way to quivers, and Isabelle took some deep shuddering breaths.

  ‘Hush, my lady. I’m here, there is nothing to be afraid of.’ She wasn’t sure whether she should ask what was the matter, or whether it would simply be better to keep her counsel. But as Isabelle’s crying abated, she seemed to want to talk.

  ‘How could he say such things? How could he? He can’t have meant them.’

  Her face puffy and swollen, she looked up at Joanna. ‘Oh, I’m worthless! I’ve always known it, for what use are women to a noble family? We are nothing, chattels to be passed on to the nearest ally. But to think that I wanted him. Oh, the … the humiliation!’ This last was accompanied by another huge sob, and again it was a few moments before she was in a fit state to speak. Joanna thought she had better say nothing and let Isabelle release as many words and feelings as she needed to. Clearly her suspicions about her mistress and Walter de Courteville had been correct.

  ‘I was so stupid! So blind! All these years I’ve preened myself – I, the daughter of an earl! No man would be good enough for me, except one of the highest birth … fine ideals, until I fell in love, or so I believed.’ The voice rose to a wail. ‘Yet here I am, lying on the floor of a guest chamber, humbled and debased by a … a nobody. And his words will haunt me for-forever!’ The weeping overtook her again, and Joanna held her mistress in her arms and rocked her like a child.