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  As the quiet washed over him, thoughts came unbidden to his mind. Later he would attend Berold’s burial and the Mass for his soul, and he was still disturbed by the thought that the death might have been prevented if only he’d been more alert. He cast his mind back to the last time he’d seen him alive. Berold had hailed him and had wanted to talk. But then he’d stopped, and stopped suddenly. Something had caught his eye and he’d changed his mind about speaking. What had he seen? Or more to the point, whom had he seen?

  Edwin closed his eyes and tried to recall the scene in greater detail. He and Martin had been standing in the inner ward. They had been facing the gatehouse, and so Berold must have been looking at the keep …

  Suddenly he stood and disentangled his hands, to leave his parents alone with each other in their sorrow. He ached to be able to support them, but he couldn’t. He needed to see Sir Geoffrey, for he knew who had killed Berold.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sir Geoffrey was leaving the keep with Robert when he was surprised to be confronted by a panting Edwin, who reached out and grasped his arm.

  The boy sucked in a deep breath – really, he would have to do some training if he was going to serve the earl properly in future – and managed to push out some words. ‘Sir Geoffrey, I think I know who killed Berold.’

  The knight felt his heart leap. ‘The same person who killed de Courteville?’

  Edwin stopped halfway through another breath. ‘I’m not sure about that, for I can’t put the two things together just now. But I’m sure that Berold was killed by Walter de Courteville.’

  Had the day just got a little brighter? ‘Well then, we must apprehend him immediately, for he’s probably guilty of the other killing as well.’ That would wrap it all up very simply and satisfactorily. He started to move off.

  But Edwin had not yet relinquished his arm. ‘Please, Sir Geoffrey, don’t. Or at least not yet. Listen, I’m sure that he was the one who killed Berold. Yesterday I was in the ward when Berold came up to me, excited, saying that he had something that he needed to tell me. But then he saw someone over my shoulder, said that he’d changed his mind, and then ran off. I am certain that the person he saw coming out of the keep must have been Walter.’

  Sir Geoffrey thought back. Yes, de Courteville had been in the keep yesterday morning, as he himself had stopped him attacking Edwin, and had then accompanied him to see the earl. But he didn’t grasp the significance of why this was important.

  Edwin explained. ‘I think that Berold had seen something, something which may be related to the first murder. He was going to tell me, but then on seeing Walter, he didn’t. I think that it must have been Walter whom he saw doing something, and then instead of telling me about it, he went to speak to Walter directly. Perhaps he hoped to gain something – some payment for keeping quiet. But then Walter killed him.’

  Sir Geoffrey wished his mind could keep up with the young man’s. ‘So, Berold must have seen Walter killing his brother, and then threatened him with the knowledge? This still leads us back to him being the murderer. I’ll find him now.’ Again he turned.

  The hand was still on his arm. ‘Please, Sir Geoffrey, I need some time to think it through, as that still doesn’t seem right.’

  Sir Geoffrey hesitated. It would make things extremely convenient if he were simply to arrest Walter, but he himself had asked for Edwin to be the one to investigate as he knew he was clever, so he supposed he’d better listen to him now. ‘Explain.’

  The younger man’s face assumed a pained expression. ‘I still don’t know who killed the visiting earl, but the more I think about it, the more I believe it isn’t Walter. If he wanted to kill his brother, why wait until he was here, in a strange and hostile place? Surely it would have been easier to arrange some kind of accident nearer home. And Martin and I have already been through the times and places and we can’t find that Walter would have had a chance to go up to the top of the keep and then down again. And then, why marry the earl’s sister? What has that got to do with anything? If he’d come here to kill his brother, surely he wouldn’t get involved in something else so complicated?’

  This was all very confusing. Sir Geoffrey tried to work his way through it. ‘So Berold’s death was nothing to do with de Courteville’s? Or was it? I thought you thought that the same person had killed both of them.’

  ‘Originally I did, but now I’m not so sure. And Walter is a powerful man, I can’t just accuse him with no justification.’

  Edwin looked downcast, but Sir Geoffrey knew what he was going to do, something he was more suited to than trying to keep all these things in his head at once. Powerful in name he might be, but he was sure that Walter de Courteville was a physical coward, and that was something which could be exploited. But Edwin didn’t need to know what he had in mind. ‘They are burying Berold this afternoon, are they not?’

  Edwin nodded.

  ‘Then you get down to the church and attend. I’m sure you’ll want to be there. I’ll consult with the earl over what is best to be done, and I’ll speak with you later.’

  Edwin looked as though he was about to say something, but evidently he didn’t dare disobey a direct order. He departed.

  Sir Geoffrey turned to Robert, who had been standing silently by all the while. Here was a kindred spirit. Robert would help him take action.

  ‘Good, that will keep him out of the way for a while. Come with me.’

  Robert looked at him enquiringly, but Sir Geoffrey didn’t want to say too much. ‘What I mean is, it may be better that he doesn’t know of this. He’s a very clever lad, but I feel that he has a few things to learn about the way the world works, and the evil of which men are capable.’

  The squire still said nothing. Sir Geoffrey sighed. Evidently he was going to have to be more direct.

  ‘Do you not agree that our friend Walter has been acting very suspiciously, regardless of what Edwin says about him not killing his brother?’

  Robert nodded. ‘Yes, Sir Geoffrey.’

  ‘Good, I’m glad you agree, as I think that you and I ought to go and have some words with him.’

  Robert’s eyes registered surprise and he opened his mouth to speak, but Sir Geoffrey held up his hand.

  ‘Oh, never fear – I don’t intend to hold him captive for torture, or even to beat him. But I do think that we need some more answers from him on exactly what happened the nighht before last, and in particular, where he was at the moment when his brother was killed. He has just been given a tongue-lashing by our lord, so hopefully we can catch him before he’s recovered properly and get truthful answers to some questions. Come.’

  Walter looked closely at the coffin. It was large and ornate, but not so much so that he would have to pay a premium price for it. Ralph had never been a particularly generous brother, so Walter didn’t see why he should spend good coin on anything lavish for him now that he was dead. He needed something solid enough, he supposed, for it wouldn’t look good to arrive back at the estate with the body in a plain box. Apart from anything else, the stink would be unbearable, so for his own comfort and convenience as much as anything else, he’d ordered it lined in lead. Once Ralph’s body was inside it would then be sealed up to keep the stench of decay locked away inside as they travelled.

  He nodded to the carpenter and turned to leave, colliding as he did so with Ralph’s squire, who had been following him everywhere for the last few hours.

  He was irritated. ‘What do you want?’

  The boy – what was his name again? – was ingratiating. ‘Only to see if there was anything you required, my lord.’

  ‘I don’t require anything, and I’m not your lord.’

  The boy said nothing, but looked at him with a smirk. Walter realised that, actually, it was rather pleasant to be addressed as ‘lord’ and to have someone fawning over him. He looked at the boy again.

  ‘You’ll be looking for another master now that Ralph is dead.’

  ‘Yes, my lord. I
was a good squire to him, saw to his every need. I would be very happy to do so for you, my lord.’

  ‘Oh you would, would you? Well, I don’t think I’m looking for a squire just at the moment, and certainly not one who’s been Ralph’s lackey for the last few years.’ He started to move away.

  David – yes, that was it – followed him. His voice became desperate. ‘But my lord …’

  Walter was enjoying the power. It was nice to be able to ruin somebody else’s life for a change. ‘Be off with you. I don’t need you, and you may starve in a ditch for all I care.’ He was gratified by the look of fear which passed over the boy’s face, and turned away. He didn’t, therefore, see the cunning expression which followed it. The voice came from behind him as he sought to walk away.

  ‘But I know things, my lord.’

  Walter stopped and turned.

  ‘What do you know?’

  David clearly sensed that he had his fish on the hook. ‘I know things about you, my lord, things which your brother let slip while he was talking sometimes.’

  Walter shrugged. He could probably ignore this. But David had one more arrow in reserve.

  ‘And I saw what you did, my lord.’

  Walter stopped dead, feeling panic rise. What had the boy seen? He had to deal with this right now.

  He strode up to the squire, oblivious of the fact that they were having this conversation outside the carpenter’s booth in the busy outer ward. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and dug his fingers in, watching him wince.

  ‘You know things, do you? You saw me, did you? Well, what makes you think that I wouldn’t be better served by having you removed altogether? What makes you think I should take you on as squire?’

  David now looked as though he realised that he’d gone too far. Walter felt powerful and dangerous. The squire tried a different approach and looked at him with a wheedling expression. ‘Please, my lord, I hadn’t finished. Not only do I know things about you, but I also know much about your brother. Have I not been his body squire for the past five years? I know where he’s been, what he’s done, and who he’s spoken to.’ He was pale and sweating.

  Walter’s mind mulled over the implications of that. How interesting it would be to know exactly what Ralph had been getting up to. How useful. Besides, there was nothing he could do about the squire here in this crowded ward, and it wasn’t worth taking the risk. He made his decision and spoke magnanimously. ‘Very well, I will take you on.’ He could always change his mind later when he was in a less public place.

  David was effusive with relief. ‘Oh thank you, my lord, I’m so grateful, I’ll never let you down …’

  Walter cut him off with a gesture.

  ‘Yes, yes, that will do. Now, you may begin your duties immediately. The carpenter will want some money for the coffin in there, and as I have no doubt that you have managed to steal whatever you could find from Ralph’s possessions, you can start by going in there and paying him whatever he requires out of your own pocket.’

  David’s face fell. Walter felt satisfied.

  ‘And don’t think you can get away with whatever sort of tricks you used to play on my brother. You will do exactly as I say at all times – you’ve made your bargain with me and you must keep to it. Otherwise you may remember what I said about having you removed.’ He spoke in what he hoped was a chilling voice and was rewarded by another momentary flicker of fear. ‘Now go.’

  The boy sulked back to the carpenter’s booth, and Walter was starting to walk through the outer ward in a satisfied frame of mind when two figures suddenly appeared beside him, one on either side. They closed in, jostling him. But before he could open his mouth he realised who they were: Warenne’s eldest squire, and the old castellan. Both faces held determined expressions as they gripped him by the arms. Walter suddenly felt a sinking sensation in his stomach and looked around for help. But his new squire had disappeared and there were none of Ralph’s men – his men – close at hand. He felt himself being steered up the path towards the inner ward.

  ‘What do you want?’ He tried hard to keep his voice from shaking. He tried to free his arms, but was taken aback again by the strength of the old man on his left, who held him in an iron grip. Neither could he move his other arm, as the squire was also surprisingly powerful. He started to panic. What was it with these men who trained with weapons all the time? Clever men like himself who preferred to think with their heads ought to be able to outwit them at every turn, but again and again it all came down to physical strength. Walter had never shown much interest in combat – he was above such things – but occasionally it would have come in useful.

  The knight leaned towards him and spoke in a low tone. ‘Have no fear, we won’t hurt you. We’re all going to find a nice quiet room where you can answer some questions for us. Don’t try to make a scene in public, for there is nobody here who will take your part.’

  He was right. Looking around, Walter could see that people were starting to look at them, for surely the sight seemed odd, but his captors seemed to engender respect from others. Not only would nobody step in to help him, they would almost certainly obey any command from the knight to restrain him. He stopped his struggles. He would be better employed using his energy to think his way out of this. He should have no problems outwitting these louts. He walked calmly with them through the gate to the inner ward, round to the household quarters, up some stairs and into a spartan chamber of the wooden building.

  Finally they let go of him, the squire turning to shut the door, and Walter rubbed his arms as he looked around. He had lost his bearings, but as the room had one stone wall, he supposed it was one which backed directly on to the curtain wall around the ward. There was very little furniture: a wooden bed, neatly made; a stool; a kist in the corner, and next to it a pole on which was hung a mail hauberk, slightly old fashioned in style but in immaculate condition.

  He turned to face his captors, trying at first to bluster his way out.

  ‘You have no right to hold me here, none at all! I demand that you release me …’

  He was stopped short by an explosion of pain as the knight’s fist cracked into his face, knocking him backwards so that he fell over the stool. God, but that had hurt! The old man had the strength of a battering ram. He held his jaw and cowered as the knight stepped nearer. The squire hovered in the background, looking worried. ‘Sir Geoffrey …’ he moved as if to intercept.

  Walter started to duck, but the knight merely grabbed a fistful of his tunic, heaved him to his feet, turned the stool the right way up, and pushed him down on to it.

  He spoke. ‘That was for the insult to my lord and his family. For daring to think you could be wed to his sister, never mind for tricking her so cruelly. I won’t hit you again, but bear in mind that I could if I wanted to.’

  Walter nodded, dazed. How was he supposed to think with his head ringing like this? He’d never felt such pain.

  The questions started.

  ‘Now, we know that you were in the keep the night before last, as you’ve already confessed to that.’

  Walter didn’t like the use of the word ‘confess’. What were they trying to accuse him of? If they thought that he’d bedded the woman … but as the knight continued it seemed that this wasn’t what they were about.

  ‘Did you arrive first in the chapel? Did you see your brother at all?’

  So that was it. They thought he might be a witness. Or … ice entered his blood as he realised that they might try to accuse him of the murder of his brother. The two men loomed over him as he sat nursing his face, and he was afraid. His stomach twisted.

  ‘We’re not accusing you of anything – yet. But we must have some details from you. Tell us, or things will go badly for you.’

  Walter gulped and started to speak, screwing up his face as he tried to remember the details. ‘I wasn’t first in the chapel. Isabelle –’ the knight raised his fist again – ‘Ah, that is to say, the Lady Isabelle, was already t
here, but not the priest.’ He tried to recall more, the memory of that night returning to him.

  He had tapped his foot impatiently as he waited in the chapel. Isabelle was sitting expectantly in the corner: he’d already had to fend off her effusive greetings as he arrived, but luckily he had the excuse that they were only one floor below her brother’s bedchamber, and the last thing they needed at this point in time was an angry earl descending upon them. Finally he’d heard footsteps on the stairs, so he’d put his head out of the door ready to remonstrate with the priest. His shock upon seeing his brother round the corner had been immense, and he’d only just ducked back into the chapel in time to avoid being seen; he’d pressed his back against the wall as his heart pounded. Surely he’d been heard? But no, fortunately Ralph had been wrapped in his own thoughts, and without pausing he’d continued through the passageway and up the stairs which led to the upper floor and the staircase to the roof. What on earth could he have been doing there at that time of night? Walter could think of no plausible answer, but he’d been saved from further conjecture by the arrival of Father Ignatius, who was huffing and puffing with the effort of climbing the stairs. He’d taken his place at the small altar, and Walter and Isabelle had come to kneel before him.

  ‘So,’ the knight continued, ‘you weren’t alone – or you say you weren’t alone – when you arrived at the chapel. And your brother arrived before Father Ignatius did. He – Father Ignatius, I mean – came straight into the chapel? He didn’t go further up the stairs?’

  Walter shook his head. He was still afraid that the knight might hit him again, so he struggled to recall anything else which might be useful. Was he in real danger of being accused of the murder? What would happen to him if so? Would he be put in some cell, beaten, even hanged? He could feel the noose tightening around his neck …

  He started swaying on his stool. The squire stepped forward and shook him, which didn’t help. He fended the fellow off.