Conisbrough, June 1217
The wedding was only a week away, and there was still so much to do. Edwin splashed some water on his face and hands, pulled his new tunic over his head, grabbed the piece of bread his mother held out to him and ran out of the door, knotting his belt around his waist as he went.
It was high summer, the feast of St John the Baptist, and even at this early hour the sun was bright. As he jogged up the village’s main street towards the castle, Edwin appreciated the cool morning air, knowing that it wouldn’t last, and that it would be another blazing day later on. It wouldn’t be pleasant sitting in the steward’s cramped office, which tended to get a bit airless, but he supposed he should be grateful that he wouldn’t be out toiling in the furnace-like fields like most of the other villagers. And, thank the Lord, there would be no violence, no danger, and no death. It had been four weeks since he’d returned from Lincoln, and he could still smell the blood.
Since he’d been back, everything had been different. He hadn’t managed a whole night’s sleep, for a start, which was making him jumpy and increasingly lightheaded. He spent his nights tossing and turning on his straw palliasse, trying to blot out the visions of battle which filled his head. The heat didn’t help, but for the first summer in his life he wouldn’t leave the cottage door open overnight to let in some cool air. Instead he shut it fast, and had even fitted a wooden bar. His days weren’t safe, either: he couldn’t get over the feeling that he needed to look over his shoulder all the time, that horrors were hiding just out of his field of vision, reaching for the corner of his eye. Every shadow made him jump.
He shivered, and found to his surprise that he was already outside the door to the earl’s council chamber: he’d walked right through the castle wards, into the keep and up the stairs without even noticing. He was breathing heavily and the headache which had been hanging around for days was making him feel dizzy. He stood for a moment, leaning his head on the stone wall to soak up some of its coolness, before standing upright and inhaling. He smoothed down his hair and his tunic, and knocked.
The door was opened from within and Edwin was greeted with a smile by Adam, the earl’s junior squire, as he entered. Adam closed the door behind him and Edwin stood in silence until such time as the earl should notice him, exchanging a glance with Martin, who was looming in the corner. Martin nodded to him briefly, but he was busy trying not to make a noise as he scolded the new young page, who was fidgeting.
The earl was in the middle of a conversation with Sir Geoffrey.
‘… and so it is the only honourable thing to do.’
The old knight gestured. ‘But surely, my lord, a little unnecessary? After the recent events in Lincoln, the regent will be well aware that you have returned to his fold, and so will Prince Louis. There could be no doubt.’
Edwin felt a jolt at the mention of the word ‘Lincoln’. He had to get over this. It was a place which would doubtless be mentioned frequently in the months and years to come. He needed to put the terror behind him and be proud that he’d managed to serve his lord so well. He needed to drown out the sight and smell of the blood by thinking of the one more pleasant memory from his time away. He let his mind drift a little, encouraging it to recall the face, the summer-blue eyes … he sighed, and then remembered where he was and hoped that nobody had noticed. Fortunately the earl hadn’t, and was continuing.
‘No, I think it must be made more formal.’ His tone was firm. ‘I will send a letter to Lo
