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  The earl stepped forward, offered his hand to de Courteville and spoke words of welcome.

  ‘I am very happy to be here, Lord William,’ the other replied, ‘and it is my hope that together we may form some small part of the king’s triumph against his enemies, the French and the English traitors who side with them.’ There was a slight emphasis on the word ‘traitors’ which the earl apparently didn’t like much, and neither did some of the men around Edwin, but de Courteville continued before anyone could react. Looking around the inner ward with its untidy mixture of wooden and stone buildings, some of them only half-built, he drawled, ‘What an interesting … place you have here, my lord.’

  Edwin felt angry on his lord’s behalf, but the earl clearly felt that the slight to his home was too petty for him to be drawn. In a tone of exquisite politeness he indicated that the visiting earl would, of course, be offered the best accommodation available. ‘The great chamber will be at your disposal for you and such of your …’ he looked pointedly at the two knights flanking the visitor, ‘household as you deem appropriate.’

  De Courteville understood the implication only too clearly, and smiled thinly. ‘Why thank you, my lord. I am sure that the accommodation will be more than adequate.’ A thought seemed to strike him and he laughed. ‘I am sure everything will be just fine.’

  Chapter Three

  Robert hurried across the inner ward and up the steps to the keep. How many times had he been up and down these today? He didn’t know, but too many, at any rate. He was carrying yet another message to the earl, apprising him that one more of his knights had arrived; the earl was ensconced in his council chamber, so that meant one flight of steps up to the wooden drawbridge which led across to the keep’s only door, and another which took him from the entrance level – currently crowded with servants ferrying up supplies from the storage area below – up to the room where the earl was surrounded by ever-increasing piles of parchment. Edwin would probably be able to tell him how many steps that was in total, but all Robert knew was that the backs of his legs were starting to ache. So much for the glamour of campaign. He was panting slightly as he knocked on the door.

  Within the time it would take to say five paternosters he was hastening back down the stairs and out to the outer ward where he’d left the new arrival. Then he took the knight and his men out of the main gate and around to the north-eastern side of the castle, where the flat area normally used as the tiltyard was covered in a forest of brightly coloured tents, and indicated that they should set up camp there, picketing their horses in a specially fenced-off area further down the hill. The campaign was imminent … it was a good thing he was so busy, or he might have too much time to think. He trudged back round to the main gate and saw that yet another retinue had arrived, but the tall figure of Martin was already speaking deferentially to the knight at the head of the group of men, so he needn’t worry about them. Perhaps he might even have a few moments to catch his breath … he felt a tug at his sleeve and looked down to see Simon, but as he braced himself to hear of another task the boy brought his other hand around from behind his back and produced a piece of cheese and a hunk of bread.

  ‘I thought you might be hungry, and there were so many people in the kitchen that Richard Cook never noticed me.’ The boy really did have the most infectious smile.

  Robert hadn’t thought he was hungry, but now that food was in front of him he realised he was ravenous. ‘God bless you, Simon, you are the finest attendant a man could have.’ He ruffled the boy’s hair and crammed the bread into his mouth, remembering from his own youth that braving the wrath of the cook was no mean feat.

  Simon darted off again, having plenty of errands of his own to run, and Robert strolled at a more leisurely pace through the ward as he finished the cheese. He’d nearly reached the gatehouse when he all but fell over a small, dirty boy who was whittling a stick with a large knife. The boy took one look at him, dropped both stick and knife, and fled. Robert was looking after him when he heard a voice behind him.

  ‘Do you always have that effect on children?’

  Robert turned to see the pale face and blue eyes of Sir Roger looking at him. ‘He’s never pleased to see anyone,’ he replied. ‘He always thinks that people will beat him, and he’s usually right. Do you remember one of the serfs called Peter?’

  Sir Roger’s brow furrowed as he tried to recall. ‘Did he walk with a limp? Lived on the edge of the village in one of those hovels?’

  ‘Yes. He and his wife were carried off by the coughing sickness a few years ago. Young Peter is their son, and he’s been begging a living and working for scraps where he can ever since, although virtually nobody will employ him as he’s a thief and a rogue.’

  The knight’s eyes followed where the boy had fled, and he took on a faraway expression and spoke wistfully. ‘Yet the lowliest of God’s creatures deserves mercy …’ He bent and picked up the knife.

  Robert didn’t really have anything to say, as he was sure the knight didn’t require an answer from him. A few years ago he might have made a flippant comment, but there was something very different about Roger these days, something which didn’t invite intimacy or frivolity. Awkwardly he took his leave and continued on his way.

  Having mounted the keep’s stairs yet again, he slipped into his accustomed place against the wall of the council chamber to stand in attendance on his lord. His timing was certainly off at the moment – he’d managed to walk in on another tête-à-tête between the earl and his sister, only this time he had no messenger with him to use as an excuse. He tried to vanish into the wall hangings, wishing that, just for once, the lady would choose a different subject.

  The earl sighed. ‘Isabelle, at this moment I don’t have the leisure to speak with you regarding your marriage. I will do so when the time is right.’

  ‘But when will the time be right? I’ve been widowed for years now. I wish to be married again and bear children before it’s too late, but you seem determined to thwart me.’

  The earl’s voice started to rise. ‘As I have told you before, you will marry when I say so and not before, and to a man whom I consider a suitable match.’

  ‘Suitable for you, that is, not me.’ She pouted unattractively.

  ‘Of course.’

  Robert wondered to himself how she could even think of any other reason to marry. He knew what was coming next, was mouthing the words before they even issued from her mouth, safe in the knowledge that neither of them was looking at him. ‘You allowed Maud and Ela to marry again soon after being widowed.’

  And the earl’s reply was the same as ever. Why did they have to have this conversation over and over again? Why would she not listen? His lord’s tone was resigned. ‘As I have reminded you before, Maud and Ela are not my heirs. I have no children and no brothers, and you are the eldest of my sisters, and therefore the alliance which you make must be carefully considered. It would be folly to rush into anything too soon.’

  Honestly, did she have no family feeling at all? Robert felt only sympathy for the earl. He remembered when the lord himself had married some years ago. He hadn’t been the senior squire then, but had been around the earl enough to know that he’d only met his new bride a handful of times before they’d wed. But to marry well had been his duty to his family, so he’d done it. Simple. Although, thinking about it, he’d grown very fond of her during the time they’d spent together, and he’d been devastated when she’d died two years ago. That had been a bad time for all those in the household, as his temper had become shorter than ever and his squires had borne the brunt of it. The earl and his wife had had no children, so until such time as he should marry again the Lady Isabelle was his heir, and so her husband could end up being the next Earl of Surrey. She should just do as she was told and stop goading him, but of course she managed to come up with the worst possible thing to say.

  ‘If only you had allowed me to marry Walter when he asked …’

  Robert winced as th
e earl stopped in his tracks and started to clench one fist. There was only one thing which irritated his lord more than his sister’s ‘marriage’ tone of voice, and that was the mention of one particular would-be suitor.

  His voice rose dangerously. ‘Walter de Courteville? That good-for-nothing upstart? Why, the man is cowardly, as slippery as a snake and, moreover, no longer the heir to his brother’s earldom now that Ralph has a son. You will marry such a man over my dead body!’

  The pacing got faster; the arms started to wave. This was going to be a good one. Still, at least it was the Lady Isabelle on the receiving end, and not him.

  ‘Dear God, the very thought of that weasel becoming the next earl makes my blood run cold,’ the earl continued. ‘The estates would be ruined within a month, the people starving and dying like flies. Although, at this particular moment, I would happily marry you to Walter or any other worthless nobody who happened to come along, just to be rid of you!’

  She opened her mouth to speak again but he finally lost his patience and cut her off with a bellow. ‘Out! Return to your chambers, sister – the fate of the realm is in the balance and I have more important things to do than … than dallying here exchanging words with you. Out, I say!’

  His voice would have carried across a battlefield and it held the unmistakeable ring of authority. For once the lady knew when to back down. She said nothing but stamped her foot in frustration and turned towards the door. As she flounced out, she muttered something under her breath that sounded like ‘you will soon see,’ but Robert didn’t think his lord had heard.

  The earl lashed out with his arm and sent a goblet flying across the room. Robert started to flinch as his lord turned to him, but fortunately he only jerked his head to indicate that he wanted to be left alone, so the squire took the opportunity gratefully, and fled.

  He was across the ward and at the foot of the steps which led up to the great chamber when he heard voices from within: one wheedling, one worried, and one in some distress. What in the Lord’s name was going on now? He recognised the last voice as Joanna’s and bounded up the steps and through the door to see her backed against the wall with one of de Courteville’s squires facing her. His hands were on the wall on either side of her, barring her path; the younger squire had one hand on his fellow’s arm and was obviously trying to pull him away from the girl. It was all too clear what was happening, and Robert grabbed the older squire’s shoulder and swung him round, allowing Joanna to escape out the door.

  The squire looked at him and sneered. ‘What do you want? I was only having a bit of fun.’

  ‘She didn’t look amused.’

  ‘Oh, she was enjoying it as much as me, never fear. Women like to pretend to be scared, but they don’t mean it really. Anyway, what is it to you? Is she your sweetheart? Or have you already tried with her and failed?’ He leered.

  Robert seized a handful of the other’s tunic, surprised by the suddenness of his anger. The little … who did the boy think he was, anyway, coming here where he wasn’t wanted and treating Joanna that way? He’d raised his fist, ready to smash it into the smirking face, before he realised that he was being deliberately goaded, and that if he hit the boy the story was bound to get back to de Courteville, suitably twisted, and that wouldn’t do the earl any good. Reluctantly he lowered his hand and let go of the tunic, leaving the young man to adjust his clothing, adopt a gloating manner and stalk off.

  The younger squire addressed Robert nervously. ‘You mustn’t mind David, it’s just his way. He wouldn’t have hurt her.’

  Robert rounded on him ferociously. ‘And what do you know about it? What do you know about her? Do you think it’s funny? Do you?’ He stepped forward and raised his fist again. The boy looked frightened, and Robert realised he was taking out his anger on the wrong person: this lad had, after all, been trying to stop his fellow. He only looked about thirteen or fourteen, and was probably intimidated by his bullying superior – in fact he had a nasty-looking bruise on the side of his face. There was no point assuaging his temper by exacting revenge here. The boy was the wrong target. He tried to calm down. ‘I’m sorry, I know it wasn’t your fault.’ He adopted a more conciliatory tone. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Adam.’

  ‘Well, Adam, if I were you I’d be off to see if your lord needs you for anything, instead of wasting your time talking to me.’

  The boy nodded and fled outside, leaving Robert alone to contemplate the hours ahead.

  Edwin was about to leave the ward when he saw Robert striding past, muttering to himself and pushing his hand through his hair. He hailed his friend, but had to run after him and grasp his arm before he was noticed.

  ‘You look deep in thought.’

  Robert stopped and glared at him. Edwin knew that look.

  ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’

  Robert pushed his hand through his hair again. ‘It’s nothing.’

  Edwin looked at him.

  ‘Oh, all right! It’s everything. I’m angry at the way our new guest and his household seem to have upset everyone already. The earl has enough to worry about without all this trouble in his home. That, and the fact that I have much to do and little time to do it in.’

  Edwin was eager to find out more about the campaign, but Robert looked too harassed to ask about it. His own troubles receding, he thought that he should probably try to calm his friend down, then maybe he would get the chance to ask some questions. ‘Well, there seems to be a lull in the arrivals at the moment – why don’t you come with me for a while and tell me the news? We can go up to the wall walk, so you’ll be able to see if anyone else approaches.’ He tried not to plead.

  Robert looked around him, still seemingly dazed, and acquiesced. They made their way up to their usual place, and he told Edwin of the plans for the earl to join the regent’s host to fight off the French invaders. He didn’t look too pleased at the prospect, although the telling of it had brightened him slightly, and Edwin was enthralled.

  ‘Just think of all the places you’ll get to see, all those fine cities. Lincoln, of course,’ – he’d found out that Lincoln was to the south-east and was feeling mightily pleased with his new geographical knowledge – ‘but maybe also York or Winchester, or perhaps even London!’ Caught up in his thoughts of such amazing places, the reality of his situation hit him again. Robert might see these places, but he, Edwin, would not. His place was here, working for the earl’s household, and he would probably never travel further than twenty miles away during the whole of the rest of his life. Unimportant. Insignificant. Even Berold would get to see the places he would not.

  Robert spoke. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He’d brought Robert up here to try and cheer him, but now it was he who needed enlivening. But how could Edwin say he was jealous? Robert had always been his best friend, ever since they were both small boys running around the castle enclosures. So why did the differences seem so important all of a sudden? They never had before. Perhaps it was the thought of war, of glory, of Robert riding off on a fine horse to join the glittering host with its mailed knights and their coloured banners floating in the wind …

  ‘There is something. Tell me.’

  ‘I told you, it’s nothing.’

  ‘Tell me, or I’ll beat you like Sir Geoffrey did the day we both fell in the river. Do you remember that? I could hardly walk for a week.’ Robert grinned.

  Of course Edwin remembered. It had been one among many of their childish escapades, albeit one which nearly got both of them killed. But they’d come through it together, just as they’d taken their beatings together. How could he be jealous of Robert? And yet, there was some block between them, as there never had been before.

  ‘It’s just …’ He stopped and tried again, groping for the right words. ‘I was just thinking about all the things you’ll be able to do with the rest of your life. While I’ll be stuck here, you’ll visit far-off places and see castles and cathedrals,
earls and maybe even kings. And meanwhile I’ll be here, organising the village’s work, catching petty thieves, settling disputes over a few yards of land and adding up William Steward’s accounts for him.’

  Robert started to say something, and then stopped. He tried again. ‘But look, it’s not all excitement. At least you’ll always have a roof over your head; I might go campaigning with the earl for months in the rain and have to sleep in the mud. Or I might get caught up in a siege and starve, or die of the bloody flux from eating rotten meat. And people do get killed in battles, you know. And maimed or wounded.’ Edwin hadn’t quite thought of it like that. But would he exchange his safe, dull life for one of danger and excitement? He thought he probably would. Honour and glory and a chance to see the world. What would anyone not give for that?

  Robert continued. ‘Anyway, I’m not going to be a great man like the earl, am I? I’ll just be one of the knights in his service, so I’ll be back here often to see you. And if I do ever get a manor of my own, you can come and work for me, if your father can spare you. By the way, how is he today?’

  A wave of dizziness came over Edwin. Quickly Robert grabbed his arms and changed the subject.

  ‘But come with me now and we’ll go and look at the encampment.’

  Edwin tried to breathe normally. The encampment. Yes, they would go and look at that. Breathe in, breathe out. Good, that’s better. The spots before his eyes receded. He would take his mind off things by going to look at the tents. But no sooner had they started down the steps than another retinue was sighted in the distance, and Robert had to go and attend to his duties, calling over his shoulder that he would try to speak with him later.