Longsword (17 page)

On the second afternoon, after the usual festivities for the peasants in the forenoon, six knights would challenge six others to single combat in the lists. Again, Crispin would be matched with Sir Bertrand, and so on, down to Jaclin, Gerald, and the rest. In the evening there would be another feast, at which would be performed the masque over which Father Anthony was now labouring.

On Christmas Day the marriage of Sir Bertrand and the Lady Elaine would be celebrated, followed by a nuptial mass for all. Later that day the Lady Beata would be received into the arms of the church, and Lord Henry would be given quittance of the vow he had made at the birth of his daughters.

“It is well enough, I suppose,” said Crispin. “Let the bishop be given the best seat at all times. It is important he be well disposed towards us. If only it would stop raining! Whatever possessed my father to stage a tourney in the depths of winter!”

“It occurred to me,” said Gervase, rubbing his forehead in an effort to concentrate, “that. …”

“Very well, then. I will hear my father's letter now.”

Gervase did not actually shrug, but he certainly gave the impression of having done so. Crispin scowled, and taking out his dagger, began to clean his nails with it. His restless eye met Rocca's smirk, and Crispin's scowl deepened.

Gervase stopped reading in mid-sentence. Crispin looked up with an oath, but Gervase, without asking permission, had handed the letter to his clerk Thomas, and was walking away to the window, with his head averted.

“Is the fool taken ill?”

Gervase could be seen to shake his head, and spread his hands. Thomas hesitated, with one eye on Gervase, and then resumed the reading of the letter, which was concerned with the exact date Lord Henry intended to arrive at the castle, and with the number and style of those he was to bring in his train.

“Shall I send for your physician to attend Master William?” asked Rocca, fawning at Crispin's elbow.

“One moment,” said Gervase. He seemed to be fighting pain. “One moment,” he repeated.

“My lord will not find the physician in any of the places where he ought to be. Shall I send for him, my lord? I know where the man has gone – against your orders – you recall you said no-one was to go near the ostler who behaved so shockingly to your sister? But there it is, some people find it difficult to obey your orders – your very clear orders – Master William never seems to learn, does he?”

The dagger flashed through the air, hooking itself in Rocca's gown. “Speak clearly, man! Or it will be the worse for you!”

Rocca went grey, and sweat stood out on his brow. “That treacherous secretary of yours … the man you choose to honour, he flouts your orders and speaks slightingly of you behind your back. … He ordered your physician to go to the cell of the villain who would have dishonoured your sister … to succour him in secret. …”

Crispin threw Rocca from him, and turned on Gervase. “Did you do that? You knew I had ordered no-one to go near him!”

Gervase threw out his hands. He was very pale. He said, “My lord, they said he had a fever, because of the flogging. …”

“Silence! What, am I to be mocked to my face? And behind my back, too! Why, you disobedient … Rocca is right, and you will need a taste of the whip yourself before you understand who is master here!” He swung on Varons. “Take him to the West Tower and set him in fetters, neck and ankles … and be sure I will send to see my orders have been faithfully carried out!”

There was a moment when the confused echoes of Crispin's voice seemed to hold everyone still. Varons did not move first. Gervase did. He walked across the room without haste, without showing any sign of fear, looking straight ahead. Varons lifted his arms in despair, and followed Gervase out.

Beata was mounting the stairs to visit the Lady Joan, her nurse at her heels. She stopped short, as if she had mistaken the step on the stair.

“What is it, my dearie?” said the nurse.

“Nothing … at least, I'm not sure.” Her rapid heartbeat gave the lie to her words. “I was disturbed by a thought … something is wrong.”

“You have risen too early from sick-bed. I told you. …”

Beata ran on up the steps till she came to a window overlooking the courtyard. From above the two figures were foreshortened, yet both men were easy to identify. Gervase was being escorted to the West Tower by Captain Varons.

“I should certainly have cut out my tongue,” said Beata.

The head gaoler sorted through his keys. “Leave your outer clothes and your shoes over there, if you please, Master William.”

“That will not be necessary,” said Varons, rubbing the back of his neck. “And we will have a nice, airy chamber for the secretary, if you please; with a window.”

“Like that, is it?” The gaoler's eyebrows rose. “Think he'll not be with us long?”

“I hope not,” said Varons. He looked at Gervase, and bit his lip. Gervase hardly seemed aware of what was happening to him. “And you'll not give him one of those collars studded with bolts inside,” said Varons. “A plain affair, if you please, and the fetters on his ankles are not to be so close as to give him gangrene. …”

The gaoler shrugged, and led them up, instead of down the stairs to a slip of a room with a high barred window. The aperture was unglazed, and small, but did admit adequate light. A stool, a pitcher for water, and some straw comprised the furnishings, apart from the chains which dangled from staples set into the walls. Gervase allowed the gaoler to fasten the heavy collar about his neck, and set his ankles in fetters, with the same air of inattention that he had worn all along.

“You are ill, my friend,” said Varons, shaking Gervase's arm. “Shall I send the physician to you?”

Gervase shook his head. For the first time he seemed aware of his surroundings. Colour stained his cheeks. He clenched his fists, and moved his feet so that the irons about his legs clattered along the floor. “A better lodging than I might have expected,” he said, with his habitual courtesy.

A man panted up the stairs calling for Varons. “Lord Crispin – you are to come at once – that ostler is to lose the sight of his eyes within the hour, and we all ordered to look on. …”

Varons cursed. The gaoler said he must lock up sharpish then, if he might make so bold as to ask the captain to move.

Gervase looked up at that. He rubbed his eyes, and yawned. He said, “Will you tell Thomas … the tithe barn, the one that's disused … they must make that ready against the tourney. He'll understand.”

Varons halted at the door, unwilling to go, and yet aware that he was awaited elsewhere. “Do not listen, if your window overlooks the courtyard. …”

“Thank you,” said Gervase. “I shall do well enough.”

Thomas the Clerk sought for the Lady Beata, and found her crossing one of the antechambers. She drew her mantle closer, against the draughts, as she listened to his tale.

“And he sent me a most strange message, about using the old tithe barn, which is nigh on a ruin, as you may know … and we cannot make head nor tail of it, none of us, and wondered if perhaps you might … knowing him so well?”

She noted the hint, and yet seemed not to notice it. “I? No. If it is so important, and I can see that he must have held it so, can you not ask my brother for permission to visit him? Or better still, to have him released?”

Thomas shrugged, and spread his hands. Rocca was openly triumphant, swaggering about the castle as if it were his personal property. Crispin was drinking so heavily it were folly to interrupt him.

“If Master William is ill …” suggested Beata, and if you had not been watching her closely, you would not have noticed that she found the idea alarming. But Thomas was watching her.

“He is worn out, merely. Or perhaps a touch of that fever which took the little heir, and laid you low? That is the excuse, and in time no doubt Lord Crispin will accept it, and release Master William. It is for that end we work.” Then, with apparent irrelevance, he added, “I have put the letter from Lord Henry in with a pile of other such papers, in case it fall into … certain hands.”

She stood so still … only her eyes showed she still lived.

Thomas went on. “I was curious, of course, as to why he had faltered at that point. It was so very unlike him. His self-control has always been something to admire. Lord Henry wrote that he was bringing Lady Escot with Sir Bertrand at Christmas … the newly-widowed Lady Escot. …”

She could say nothing … pretend she knew nothing. Yet the fact that she had listened and found nothing to say, would have told Thomas that he had guessed aright. How had he known? Ah, but he was another of the spiders of Castle Mailing, in the tradition of his master, Hamo. Naturally he would have guessed, as she had guessed, and Hamo and Telfer and Varons … too many people knew this secret. So Lord Escot was dead. What would this mean to Gervase? Her mind darted among various possibilities, only to be brought back to the present by a cough from Thomas.

“Humble suggestion … might Father Anthony intervene on Master William's behalf? He's not afraid of my Lord Crispin, even in his cups. Suggestion to the effect that the bishop is not going to be pleased, if the tourney is put off … the weather being so bad … most unfortunate, of course, that the one who might have been able to solve the problem has offended my lord, no doubt due to the fever … and so forth?”

“You are as bad as Hamo,” said Beata. “Yes, of course I will go to Father Anthony – and at once. You really think the old tithe barn could be made into a tiltyard?”

“I don't.” Thomas stressed the pronoun. “Did I say the old tithe barn? No doubt you misheard me. And no doubt I misheard the message I was given by Captain Varons. All I know is that Master William said he thought he knew the answer to the problem of holding a tourney in bad weather.”

“It will do very well … although … I fear my brother will have to be allowed to sleep off his present indulgence, which means an overnight stay in prison for our friend.”

“Captain Varons assures me he is well housed in a dry cell, and that he is provided with a light. Master Telfer has commanded an excellent supper to be sent over, and a pallet with some bedding. The physician has visited him – after he attended to the. …” Master Thomas swallowed and Beata shuddered, remembering the screams of the ostler as his eyes were burned out. “Afterwards. The physician reported that Master William was asleep. I think sleep might be a better physic than the purges the good doctor left for our friend.”

The knowledge that the blinded ostler was not like to live the night through hung between them. They both knew they were running a risk in seeking to soften the rigour of Gervase's imprisonment.

“Thank you, Master Thomas,” said Beata.

The man smiled, an open and most unexpectedly wide smile. Then he was his anxious-eyed self again. He bowed and left her. Beata went in search of Father Anthony.

It was still raining next morning, when Gervase was brought from the West Tower direct to the tiltyard. Crispin awaited him, surrounded by a worried-looking group of people. Rocca was not there.

“Well?” demanded Crispin, as Gervase approached.

Gervase gestured to the high blank wall above them. Around them rain fell, gently, persistently, and the hammers of the men working on the stands opposite even though they were protected by covers – struck with sad irregularity.

“It occurred to me,” said Gervase, “that a wall has two sides. This side is open to the elements, and the ground beneath our feet suffers accordingly. Even if the rain ceases before noon, we would need a strong drying wind for days before the ground would be fit for horses. It occurred to me that we might investigate what lay on the other side of the wall, which must of necessity run in length for as many paces as are required in a tiltyard.”

The Clerk of the Lists came bustling up. “What's this about staging the tourney under cover? A preposterous idea, if I may say so. …”

Gervase gave him a cold look. “It is true that we could not hold a mock battle inside, but the individual encounters with lance and sword, and perhaps also the entertainment provided by and for the peasants, could easily. …”

“Without the mock battle, you have nothing,” argued the Clerk.

“Peace!” said Crispin. His eyes were deep-set today, and a muscle twitched at the side of his mouth. His scar had darkened, till it seemed almost black. “Let us hear Master William out. If I had not been so hasty yesterday … come inside out of the rain, Master William! I don't want you falling sick again.”

They went round the corner into a secluded courtyard, formed in an angle of the curtain wall of the castle, and clustered with ramshackle sheds, broken farm wagons, and the like. The litter of the castle had drifted here over many years, yet behind it, now that they looked closely, they could see the shape of an immense and very ancient, half-timbered barn.

They stepped into the gloom of the barn. It had no windows, and the only light came in through two great doorways, whose wooden leaves lay in shattered pieces at an angle against the walls inside.

“The light … impossible. …” said the Clerk, yet his nose twitched, and he began to pace out distances.

The barn was partially filled with sacks of grain, and although a stack of discarded barrels and farm implements impeded their view, nothing could disguise the fact that the building was nobly proportioned and in a reasonable state of repair. The roof was tiled, sloping to within some fifteen feet of the ground on either side, but rising in the centre to double that height. Along the whole length of the side opposite the doors, a platform had been raised to facilitate the storage of grain.

“Our stands are ready-made for us, you see,” said Gervase, gesturing to the platform. “If we put up handrails, and drape them suitably … staircases at either end. We have been making stairs for the stands outside, and they can easily be adapted for this place instead. The common folk can come and go beneath the platform, once we have fenced them off from the body of the barn. There are two doors already made for entrances and exits of opposing knights, and there is no reason why we should not cut more – we can effect a barrier down the centre of the barn, with the poles we had intended to use outside.”