Chapter 19

Father Everwin and the physician monks from the village didn't know whether Lord Erik would survive. He'd been on his way back from the latrine when the wall fell, directly beneath the eastern end of the collapse. None of the big stones hit him, but a battering of rubble from the wall's core had knocked him to the ground and broken his ribs. Father Everwin said there might be internal damage, for the baron had been coughing blood when they found him. If that were the case, it was in God's hands whether he lived or died.

The castle seemed paralysed for the next few days, much as it had been the night of Lady Julia's death. No one knew what was going to happen next. Everyone set to work clearing the rubble and trying to make the damaged kitchen safe, but it was an immense undertaking. A new temporary kitchen was set up in the parlour where the squires slept, forcing them to move out into the great hall. A mason came up from the village to survey the damage and quoted them a daunting fee for repairs. It was well beyond Lord Erik's means to pay. There was a danger, the mason said, of the ground on the north side of the hill eroding further now that it had shifted. He would have to examine the foundations of the entire wall and shore them up if necessary. If they got started right away, the wall could be made temporarily safe before the weather turned any colder, but proper repairs would have to wait until the next building season. It was difficult to get mortar to set firmly in winter, and that wasn't a risk worth taking on a project as important as a castle wall.

Wolfram kept himself busy carting barrow after barrow of rubble out of the castle and dumping it on the far side of the hill. He missed the privacy of the parlour. Now that he was sleeping in the great hall, there was nowhere for him to escape Ingrid. With her father incapacitated, she was now lady of the manor. If he died, she would most likely become the castle's steward until her infant brother came of age. That wasn't a thought Wolfram liked to contemplate, so he focused on his work. Meg was keeping Lavender busy as well, and with both of them occupied, their hillside walks and meals in the cottage became few and far between.

As a means of avoiding Ingrid, Wolfram joined the others praying for Lord Erik's health in the chapel some evenings. After a few days, whether by prayer or by nature, the baron's condition seemed to stabilise. Ingrid and Father Everwin were the only ones seeing him regularly since he was moved to his room. They said he was in great pain, but conscious and lucid. His condition hadn't deteriorated, which was a good sign. Father Everwin was tentatively hopeful that he might recover, though he would be confined to the solar for several more weeks.

With news of the baron's health sparking the castle back to life, all efforts turned toward repairing and rebuilding. A few volunteers from the village helped clear the wreckage, and piece by piece, the ruined kitchen was made safe and dismantled. Several of the precious stone ovens had survived the catastrophe, but they couldn't be used until the building was repaired. The pantry was completely destroyed, and the cellar beneath filled with broken stone and splintered wood. It would be a long time before things got back to normal.

A little over a week later, Wolfram was sitting with Dunstan and some of the other men near the hearth in the great hall. The squires' table was always packed now that they didn't have the parlour to retreat to. Wolfram had taken to joining the older men, and had been pleased to find that Dunstan welcomed him. If their longsword duel had proven him a worthy squire, his swift action in the kitchen had proven him a worthy man.

"The sooner we get our lord back the better," Dunstan said over a cup of warm wine. "Not that I'd speak ill of Lady Ingrid, but she isn't her father."

"She's not Lady Julia, either," Wolfram said, biting back some of his own ill opinions about their mistress.

"True enough. She's been on about Lord Ricaud again. Seems set on marrying him. Pompous ass, that man, but I can think of worse solutions to our problems."

"I don't think he's interested in her anymore. He'd have visited if he was."

The thread of discussion trailed off as the men began discussing the logistics of rebuilding the fallen wall, only to resurface when Father Everwin joined them with a troubling piece of news.

"Lord Erik wishes to disinherit his own son!" the chaplain announced with indignation. He spoke softly so that only the men around the table could hear, but there was a hiss in his voice that suggested it was taking all of his composure not to yell. He poured himself a cup of wine and downed it in one gulp.

"Why does he want to do that?" Dunstan asked.

"To secure Lord Ricaud's engagement, he says. It's been a sticking point ever since the boy was born. Ricaud won't go forward with the marriage unless he stands to inherit Elkinshire. It's against all propriety!"

"Makes sense though, doesn't it?" Dunstan grunted. "If Ingrid doesn't bring in Ricaud's money, there won't be a castle left to inherit by the time the boy's of age."

"You can't possibly tell me you approve, Dunstan."

The man-at-arms worked his jaw back and forth with a glower. "No, I can't say I do. But it's not for me to have an opinion, is it?"

Wolfram felt a growing urge to interject, for a bitter realisation had stolen up on him in the wake of Father Everwin's announcement. It made sense now, why Ingrid had taken a renewed interest in marrying Lord Ricaud. She must have known he would never agree while Lord Erik had a male heir. If she wanted Elkinshire for herself, she needed her infant brother out of the way, so she'd pressed her father into striking a bargain with Ricaud to disinherit the boy and name Ingrid his sole heir. He would've been resistant, but the wall collapsing was a crisis he couldn't ignore. If he didn't do something now, the ruin of his house would be literal as well as figurative. The disaster had played perfectly into Ingrid's plans, and she hadn't wasted a second in capitalising on it.

Wolfram was hesitant to voice his suspicions aloud, but if Father Everwin and Dunstan were as indignant as they seemed, there might be no better time than this.

"I don't think this is what Lord Erik wants," he said. "It's all Lady Ingrid."

They stared at him for a moment, then Everwin said: "I'm inclined to agree."

"Can we change his mind?"

"Not without a sack full of silver to pay the builders."

Wolfram turned to Dunstan. "Then why don't we go and get one for him?"

"What do you mean by that?" Everwin asked.

"He means we collect the money Erik's knights owe him," Dunstan said. "Demand as much as they can give and scare off anyone who tries to stop us. We'll have to be careful. As soon as Aldrich and his gang find out what's going on, they're sure to start some kind of trouble." Dunstan's eyes flicked in Wolfram's direction. "Reckon you and the boys are ready to handle them?"

"More than ready."

Father Everwin compressed his lips. "But what of Aldrich's money? You can rest assured that his mother will find a way to hurt Lord Erik's coffers if you try and arrest her son."

"I think we're beyond that now, don't you? It's time Erik took back control of his lands. A baron disinheriting his son just to keep his castle from crumbling is a disgrace."

The appeal to Father Everwin's sense of propriety worked. "Very well. I shall broach the idea to him tomorrow."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Wolfram said quickly. "Lady Ingrid won't like it."

"Why do you say that?"

"She's friends with Aldrich."

"He's right," Dunstan said. "She's the one who's been telling Erik not to upset the apple cart these past months. If she can get him to disinherit his son, she can make him hold off on confronting Aldrich."

Father Everwin raised his palms in front of him. "I'll not play any part in going behind the baron's back."

"Come on, Everwin," Dunstan growled. "You know he would've agreed to it when Julia was alive. She'd have said the same thing. Our lord hasn't been himself lately."

"Besides, it's not as if we'd be doing anything wrong," Wolfram said. "The knights are due to pay their tithes about a week from now, aren't they? We'll just ride out and make sure they hand over the full amount. If we go early, we can make sure Aldrich hasn't emptied their purses before we get there."

"You know full well that this reeks of dishonesty, Wolfram."

Impatiently, Dunstan retorted: "Well there's no rule against a lord collecting his taxes in your scriptures, is there? Just keep your mouth shut and we'll do the rest. Erik will have his money, and he won't have to cast his son out to get it."

And Ingrid won't get her hands on the barony, Wolfram thought.

Father Everwin poured himself another cup of wine and drank it with a look of consternation. Principled though he was, Wolfram hoped he could see the sense in their idea. After pouring a third cup, he went back upstairs to the solar.

"Do you think he'll say anything to Erik?" Wolfram asked.

"We'll find out tomorrow," Dunstan said. "Unless Lady Ingrid stops us, we're taking some horses and leaving at the crack of dawn."

No one attempted to stop them as they donned their gear and saddled up a dozen horses the next day. Wolfram kept glancing in the direction of the keep, expecting a furious Ingrid to storm out at any moment, but Lavender was the only person who came to see them off. She handed Wolfram a warm oatcake fresh from the pan along with a satchel containing a flask of cider and a wheel of cheese. He popped the oatcake into his mouth with a grin. Not wanting to speak with his mouth full, he signed, "Thank you."

Gavin made a mocking wolf whistle behind them, but Wolfram ignored it. Dunstan and the castle's four other men-at-arms were with them along with the oldest and most experienced of the squires. Most of them wore shirts of mail beneath their colourful surcoats that day, having emptied the armoury of its best equipment. Along with a dagger and an arming sword at his belt, Wolfram had his favourite longsword strapped to the back of his saddle. Every man either wore an iron cap or carried a greathelm in his saddlebags. A more formidable entourage had not ridden out from the Lavender Castle in years.

The procession caused a stir in Firfallow. People hurried out of the road to make way for them, clutching at doorframes and peering through window shutters. An odd mixture of fearful silence and encouraging cheers greeted them on each street. If Aldrich was in the village, it wouldn't be long before he heard the news.

It would take a couple of days to complete their circuit of the knights' estates. To save time, they would be splitting up into smaller groups when it made sense, but for the most part they would travel together. If Aldrich or anyone else tried to challenge them, they needed to back up their show of force. Part of Wolfram itched for his arrogant enemy to make an appearance. He wanted justice for Robin's death. Money and powerful connections wouldn't keep Aldrich safe if he tried to attack the baron's men again.

But as the day wore on, Wolfram's itch was not satiated. He didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. They rode into each village, made their way to the lord's manor house, and demanded Lord Erik's tithe in full. Whenever they could, they pressed for more than they were due. Dunstan did a fine job laying down the law. Most of the knights were reluctant at first, but all of them paid in the end. Some were indignant that Lord Erik had sent a band of soldiers to intimidate them. Others were easily cowed. More than a couple were plainly afraid of what would happen to their estates if they couldn't pay Aldrich's protection fee. His name was never spoken aloud, but everyone knew his shadow loomed large over each exchange.

"Warn your people to keep an eye out," Wolfram told one doddering old knight who looked particularly frightened. "If there's any trouble, send for us right away. We'll make sure the culprits never bother you again."

Whenever he had the chance, Wolfram asked after Ellen Good. Not many people recognised her name, but there were a few tales here and there. Some folk remembered her passing through their village a few weeks ago. Others had relatives who'd gone to see her in Firfallow and found her house empty. But no one seemed to know where she'd gone since. Once again, Wolfram's search turned up nothing.

That night they slept in the hall of one of Erik's more loyal knights, a middle-aged soldier named Robert Whitehead who was gruffly pleased to see his lord's men out in force once more. When he heard they planned to put an end to Aldrich's extortion, he paid them twice the tithe they were due and insisted they share his home and stables that night. It had been a long day of riding in armour, and Wolfram was happy to give his sore body a rest.

He found himself a spot on a fur-swaddled chair in the corner of the hall as he sipped the last of Lavender's cider and finished off the cheese wheel. One of Sir Robert's servants, a seamstress with a young girl clinging to her leg, kept giving him dirty looks when she glanced up from her sewing. He ignored her at first, guessing that she was simply uncomfortable with the presence of soldiers in her master's house, but when she persisted, he offered her a smile.

"Are those looks just for me, or does everyone get one?"

The woman pressed her lips together as if contemplating the wisdom of insulting one of the baron's men, but when Wolfram held her gaze, she said: "You don't even know who I am, do you?"

"I don't think we've met before."

"You met my husband, though." She sniffed and stood up, gathering her sewing and making as if to leave, but instead of exiting the hall she stooped over next to Wolfram and whispered: "You got him hanged."

He was confused for a moment before realisation dawned. "You're Dominic Ward's wife."

"Aye, now he remembers," she half-said to the child clinging to her skirt. "You left me without a husband and her without a papa, you and Aldrich Merchant and that noble bitch. Damn you all."

Wolfram stood up quickly. The woman's expression became fearful and she shied away. Wolfram held up a hand to indicate that he meant no harm. "Can we talk outside?"

"I've nothing to say to you."

"Well I've got something to say to you, and I'd rather not say it where everyone can listen."

"If you try anything, I'll scream."

"I'm not going to try anything."

She scowled at him before bending down to pry her daughter off her skirt. "Go and sit by the fire."

Wolfram held the door open for her. It was dark and chilly when they stepped outside.

"Go on, then," she said, folding her arms tight against the wind. "Say your piece."

"I won't tell you I feel bad about what happened to your husband," Wolfram began, recalling the pain and anger of that night, "but Aldrich was the one who sent him to the noose, not me."

"You all did. Not one of you told the truth about what happened. Dom told me everything–how Aldrich had the boys beat you and that other lad. They never meant for nobody to die, but the others went and overdid it, and my poor Dom got the blame. You and your lady went along with the lie. You're both just as bad as Aldrich." She was angry, but more than that, she was hurt. She needed someone to blame. "How can you live up there in that castle? My Dom wasn't a bad sort. He was the village watchman. Everyone liked him. But Aldrich started buying him things, getting him drunk, going off all night doing who knows what, and I couldn't make him say no to a man like that!"

"All of that's going to stop," Wolfram said, weathering her anger. "That's why we're here. Aldrich isn't going to get away with it much longer."

"I'll believe it when I see it. Where was that conscience of yours when you lied to the court, hm?"

Wolfram felt the warmth of shame rising behind his face. "I didn't want to lie. I wanted Aldrich and the others to pay for what they did. But they threatened someone I care about. If I'd said anything, they might've killed her too."

For the first time since they'd begun talking, the woman's demeanour softened. Instead of outright hostility, there was bitterness in her voice now. "There'll be no decent folk left in Firfallow if this keeps up. The baron's a feeble old fool, and his daughter's even worse. The only good thing that came of Dom's death was Sir Robert taking me in. At least now I'm away from that place."

"You'll see justice for what happened, I promise."

The woman sniffed again. "I'm going back inside."

"Before you do," Wolfram said, struck by a thought. "When you lived in Firfallow, did you know a woman called Ellen Good?"

"Aye. She delivered my daughter."

"I don't suppose she's been by this way recently, has she? No one's seen her in Firfallow for months."

She frowned at him. "Why?"

"I need to speak with her. She knows something that might help us bring Aldrich to justice." When he received no response, he added: "Please. You and I are two of the only people who know the truth."

"She's staying with her sister and brother-in-law over in Beckstead. She comes by every couple of weeks to sell Sir Robert's wife her remedies."

"Thank you." Wolfram knew the village of Beckstead. It was less than an hour's walk away; the first place they would be visiting tomorrow morning. If he could convince Ellen Good to come back with him, this trip might kill two birds with one stone.

When they arrived in Beckstead, Wolfram headed off by himself while the others went to deal with the lord of the manor. The village was a tiny place, unlikely to provide more than a few shillings for Lord Erik's tithe, and he doubted his presence would be necessary to cajole its lord into handing over the money. Wolfram asked the first person he saw where Ellen Good was staying. They pointed him to a cottage at the edge of some nearby woods. He found Ellen and another woman, presumably her sister, stripping birch bark when he ducked in through the open door. They looked up in alarm when they saw the tall young soldier step into their house.

Wolfram made a quick bow. "Miss Ellen. I've come from the castle. Do you remember me?"

She relaxed, nodding. "You're one of the baron's squires."

"My name's Wolfram. We spoke the night you left. Do you think I could have a moment of your time?"

"Very well." She set her birch branch down and accompanied him outside. Wolfram scanned the village, apprehensive that they might be overheard, but nobody was within earshot and the rest of Erik's men had disappeared behind the manor house.

"Would you consider coming back to the castle with me?" he asked.

"That depends," Ellen said guardedly. She had a knowing look about her that made Wolfram feel like a young boy. This was an intelligent woman who wouldn't be coerced into doing anything she didn't want to. "Is Lord Erik ready to welcome me back?"

Wolfram decided it would be a poor idea to lie to her. "Not in so many words, but I'm sure he won't punish you. I meant what I said the night you left. He isn't a cruel man."

"All the same, I'd rather keep my distance. I'm quite comfortable where I am. Why are you really here?"

Wolfram drew a tense breath. "Lady Julia was poisoned. You said yourself that you'd never seen a woman die in childbirth that way before. It was Lady Ingrid. She had her servant put some sleeping root into the remedies you were giving Julia."

Ellen didn't look particularly surprised by the revelation. "That makes sense to me. I suspected something of the sort."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"For the same reason I'm out here; I know when to keep my mouth shut. The baron wasn't in any mood to hear my suspicions the night Julia died, and if his daughter was the one behind it, she'd have had my head. I'm just a simple midwife. My business is helping people, that's all."

Wolfram realised he would have to appeal to Ellen's sense of decency. She was a kind sort. She wouldn't be interested in things like money or revenge. He explained what had happened since the day of the storm and how Lady Ingrid was poised to inherit the barony unless something could be done to stop her.

"If you could swear to Lord Erik about what happened with Julia, he might believe you. I'd back you up. I don't think things are going to get any better in Elkinshire if Ingrid ends up in charge."

Ellen shook her head. "But if he doesn't believe me, I'll suffer worse than temporary exile. The same goes for you. I don't think it's worth it."

"What if I could get Petra to confess? The castle chaplain would listen to us, and some of the other servants, too. If we all went to Lord Erik together, he'd be obliged to listen. And there wouldn't be any one person to single out if he took it badly."

Ellen frowned and turned away to face the woods. She wasn't convinced. Wolfram was asking her to put her life on the line for a plan that was still nebulous at best. The truth was, he didn't have any watertight scheme to hold Ingrid to account. He wasn't clever enough to come up with something like that on his own. He'd always needed people like Julia and Robin to help him, and now they were gone. But he couldn't just give up now that he'd finally tracked Ellen down.

"Alright," he said. "I won't ask you to say anything to Lord Erik. Not unless we're certain we can convince him. But will you at least come back to the castle with me? Some people were injured when the wall came down, and the baron's still in poor health. They'd all welcome a wise woman's healing touch. The monks just recommend prayer when people are in pain."

That finally seemed to get through to her.

"Are you sure the baron will welcome me?"

"If he doesn't, I'll pay you for your trouble and see you safely back here myself."

"Very well," Ellen said with a sigh. "Let me pack my things. I'll be ready to leave by noon."

Wolfram couldn't dawdle while Ellen said her goodbyes, so they met up in Firfallow that afternoon after the final knight's tithe had been collected. A box of silver coins rattled on the back of Dunstan's horse. It might not be enough to pay the builders in full, but it would certainly get them started. If the knights continued paying their tithes in the seasons to come, the castle's financial troubles would finally be at an end.

Though Wolfram was disappointed not to have gotten the chance to confront Aldrich, the trip had been a success. They had the money, and Ellen Good had come back with them. If all went well, they could persuade Lord Erik to reject Ingrid's plan. Then perhaps Wolfram could find a way to tell him the truth about the night of Julia's death. He still didn't know how he was going to manage that without putting himself or someone else in danger, but he was a step closer than he'd been yesterday.

The squires were in high spirits when they rode up the castle hill. After two days of travelling, they were eager to settle down in the great hall and share the news of their success. Like knights returning from a crusade, they felt like they'd earned themselves a little revelry.

The merriment ebbed as they rounded the bend in the path and came up to the castle gates. They were always left wide open during the daytime so that people could come and go freely, but today, they were shut tight.

"What idiot's closed the gates early," Dunstan grumbled, kicking his horse forward and calling over the wall: "Open the gates!"

They received no response. Dunstan hammered his fist against the small door and squinted up at the arrow slit looking out from the gatehouse. Wolfram shifted in his saddle, unnerved by the silence. Dunstan banged on the door and called out again. Another minute passed before two figures appeared on the battlements. The first was Lady Ingrid; the second was Aldrich. He wore a mail shirt and a satisfied smile. Wolfram felt his stomach drop as their eyes met.

"My lady!" Dunstan called up. "We've returned with Lord Erik's tithe."

"You emptied the castle of its fighting men without my consent!" Ingrid said sharply. "I won't stand for this disobedience, Dunstan."

"Forgive me, my lady. I thought it prudent. If I may speak with your father, I'm sure he'll agree."

"You may not!" Ingrid retorted with a look of cold fury. Wolfram had seen that look before. She wasn't putting on an act; it was never an act with Ingrid. She must have spent the past day convincing herself that Dunstan had betrayed her. "You and your men are no longer required. You are hereby dismissed from my father's service."

Dunstan's jaw tightened in anger. "Only the baron can dismiss me."

"He has. You will hand over your horses and equipment and leave immediately."

"What about our wages?"

"They will be sent to you."

"Are the squires dismissed, too?" Wolfram asked.

Ingrid's coldness melted into a sympathetic look that threatened to turn his stomach. "Of course not. You are wards of my father's household."

Aldrich leaned forward on the battlements and spoke for the first time: "But you'll be listening to me from now on. My men and I are taking over Dunstan's duties."