Chapter 5

In the seasons that followed, other things would occur to Wolfram about his conversation with Lady Julia. Things like the fact that squires, unlike men-at-arms, did not need to be paid a wage. Lord Erik had been very clever in parleying the dwindling prestige of his household into free servants who could be trained into soldiers that would serve him loyally for years to come. Robin was the one who put these thoughts into words, but Wolfram liked to think he would have reached the same conclusions by himself given time. They didn't tell the other squires about what Lady Julia had said, sharing the story only with Cat, who couldn't repeat such things carelessly. They wiled away the summer evenings drinking cheap cider in the kitchen cellar, lounging on the straw outside the stable, and sitting in the low branches of a fir tree on the hill tossing stones at the roof of an abandoned cottage.

Autumn and winter were far more gruelling. Wolfram began to savour the hard exercise in the courtyard even when the ground was slippery with frost, for it was the only thing that kept him warm. They weren't allowed much firewood for the parlour, and Meg wouldn't let them sleep in the kitchen. Wolfram thought about the cosy solar a lot during the winter, though he was never invited up there again. Lady Julia spoke to him sometimes, always kind and inquisitive, and Ingrid played board games with him and Robin on occasion, but only ever downstairs.

The next year, they started horse riding. Wolfram was already good at it, having learned from his father, and he was glad to be able to show up Robin and the other boys with how deftly he handled his mare. The horses they practised with were borrowed from a farmer in Firfallow, which made for an exciting day-long excursion whenever they headed down from the castle. Wolfram got the impression that the villagers liked Lord Erik, for he treated them kindly and was swift to address their problems whenever he held court. If Lady Julia was to be believed, this was probably the only village in Elkinshire that paid its rent on time. It was a good thing, too, for Firfallow was home to several wealthy merchants. Robin said it was only because of them that the Lavender Castle kept running at all.

Another year turned, and more squires arrived to join the household. Now that Wolfram was no longer a newcomer, he began thinking of the castle as his home. He felt that he had a place here, and he was determined to see his apprenticeship through to its end. There were times–usually when the pantry was empty and the hearth cold–that he questioned the wisdom of that choice, but his resolve strengthened whenever he had the chance to see his family. His parents had never been enthusiastic about him becoming a knight. When they came to visit Elkinshire, they were eager to give him every excuse to return home. They told him about how quiet the inn seemed without him, how his friends from the village missed him, how he would be more than welcome to change his mind if things were hard for him here. They meant well, Wolfram knew. He was lucky to have been given any choice in his future at all. Most children, even those from well-off families like his, were expected to go into the line of work their parents chose for them. But as tempting as they made home sound, he couldn't go back. It would be like admitting he'd failed; that he couldn't stomach cold winter nights, plain food, and gruelling exercise. That wasn't him. He was a man with his heart set on something.

The years at the Lavender Castle matured Wolfram quickly. Along with the daily exercise building up his body, he was a fast grower. By the time he was sixteen, he was already as tall as the average man and as tough as a farm labourer. His features became more defined, tightening the structure of his face and lending him a brush of fair stubble that he had to shave daily. Cat, signalling with the hand gestures she used to communicate with Meg and the other servants, told him he was handsome, and the village girls started to smile at him when he visited Firfallow. During one of the summer fairs, a baker's daughter kissed him behind her father's stall and let him put his hands beneath her dress. For a week afterwards, Wolfram was giddy with the thought of marrying her. But that desire soon faded, subsumed by the recurring fantasies he had about going to Lady Ingrid's bed in the solar. He thought about her a lot whenever he had trouble sleeping. Part of him had come to realise that it was a hopeless longing, but he clung to it all the same. There was still a chance, one day, that she might notice the handsome young squire who had helped her family regain their former glory.

It was a summer evening, and rain rattled the castle shutters urged on by an aggressive wind. The dark clouds had cut an end to the daylight early. Wolfram and most of the other boys were taking shelter in the keep. He shivered as a draft blew around his ankles, the wind somehow forcing its way through the castle stonework to reach all the way into the parlour. He and Robin were taking it in turns to mend a mail shirt Dunstan had brought in from the armoury. Wolfram wished he could start making a suit of mail for himself, but the riveted rings were fiddly and expensive to make, and Lord Erik couldn't afford to furnish his squires with them. Wolfram could have asked for the money from his parents, but he wanted to earn everything he owned. Robin slid the shirt across the table towards him. It was a heavy thing. There was a tear in one of the shoulders–not from battle, but from where someone had dropped a heavy barrel on it when it was left out on the armoury floor.

Wolfram lifted the broken part up to the candlelight and took one of the new rings from a small cup. Looping it through the others in an interlocking pattern, he took a pair of pliers and flattened the riveted hole so that it closed up and secured the new link in place. He did four more links, then slid the shirt back to Robin. Even making a small repair was taking them all evening. He couldn't imagine how long it took to knit an entire suit together.

Cat came in from the kitchen passageway with her hand on the shoulder of one of the new squires. She pointed to an empty sleeping blanket crumpled in the straw, and the boy nodded. Wolfram took a sip from a cup of tea as he watched them, wondering what was going on. Cat steered the boy in the direction of the table, where Gavin and two other squires were playing dice opposite Wolfram and Robin. She tapped Gavin on the shoulder and pointed at the empty blanket.

"What?" Gavin cupped a hand behind his ear. "I can't hear you."

Cat grabbed his ear and twisted.

He yelped in pain. "Get off me you bitch!"

She let go and slammed the table with her palm, jabbing her finger at the empty blanket again.

Wolfram scanned the room. The blanket belonged to Ralph, another new squire. He was nowhere to be seen.

"You'd better tell her where he is, Gavin."

Gavin shot Wolfram an annoyed look. "I told him I'd dropped a silver shilling in the cesspit." He flinched away as Cat slapped him on the arm. "It was just a joke! I didn't think he'd actually go looking for it."

Cat gave him a withering look. She turned to Wolfram and made a hand sign that he'd come to recognise as a request for help. He nodded and rose to his feet, clapping Robin on the shoulder.

"You can have that shirt to yourself. We'll go and find Ralph."

"Watch yourself out there," Robin said. "You won't be able to see a thing in this rain."

"Exactly. Poor Ralph might not be able to find his way back to the gate. You shouldn't tell him things like that, Gavin."

"Sorry, milady," Gavin replied in a mocking tone. Wolfram ignored him and went into the great hall with Cat. They put on cloaks and lifted the door curtain aside. The force of the elements struck them like a crashing wave. The rain was worse than ever, blowing in beneath Wolfram's hood to sting his face as the wind ripped at his cloak. He could barely see two yards in front of him. He considered going to the kitchen for a light, but even a covered lantern would blow out in this weather.

"Hold on to my cloak," he called to Cat over the roaring wind. "Give it a tug if you see Ralph!"

Now that he was out in the deluge, he understood why Cat had been so concerned. The cesspit was behind the northern wall under a latrine that jutted out from the castle over a sheer drop. People relieved themselves there during the day and emptied night buckets down the hole in the mornings. There was no way of reaching the cesspit without exiting the castle and following the eastern wall down a tumble of steep rocks at the north end. It was a precarious climb even in good weather.

Wolfram and Cat crossed the courtyard, navigating via the dim slivers of light shining through the shutters of the castle buildings. Wolfram had no idea how they were going to find Ralph out in the dark. He banged on the gatehouse door until the night watchman came out and helped him lift the locking bar from the small door in the castle gate. He stepped into the darkness, shielding his brow from the rain as he scanned the gloomy path.

"Ralph!" he bellowed into the wind. "Ralph! Are you out here?"

Cat tugged on his arm and brought him back to the wall. She patted the stones with her palm and took a step forward.

"Follow the wall around?" Wolfram asked. She slapped the wall and tugged again. "Good idea. If Ralph's got any sense, he'll be doing the same."

Step by careful step, they made their way through the shadows until they reached the end of the wall, turned the corner, and followed it north toward the cesspit. The fir trees rattled and danced overhead, scraping the battlements with their outstretched limbs. Wolfram moved as fast as he dared, apprehensive that his feet might catch in a tangle of weeds and send him sprawling. Both he and Cat kept a tight hold of each other. It was foolish, blundering through the dark like this, but the thought of young Ralph lost in the rain lit a fire in Wolfram's belly that kept him moving. He wondered if Cat felt that same fire, too. She didn't train and fight like a squire, but she was tough in her own way, and she showed no fear as she groped her way forward.

"Ralph!" Wolfram shouted for the dozenth time. He gripped Cat's shoulder and held her back when they reached the end of the wall. There were probably only a few yards separating them from the rocky precipice. "Ralph! Come here if you can hear me!"

Out of the darkness, a thin voice answered.

"I can't."

Cat tugged free of Wolfram's grip and hurried on. She dropped to her knees, soaking her skirt in the wet grass as she felt her way between the rocks. Wolfram followed her lead, afraid of losing her in the darkness.

"Keep calling to us, Ralph! We'll get you."

"I'm here." The voice came from directly in front of them.

With great care, Wolfram and Cat crawled their way down the steepening slope, bracing their hands on the rocks so they didn't slip and tumble. Out of the gloom, a small, pale hand reached up at them. Cat snatched it and held on tight. Moving past her, Wolfram reached down until he felt the neck of Ralph's shirt and heaved him up with all his strength. Wriggling like centipedes, the three of them crawled their way back up the slope until they reached the firm footing of the grass beneath the castle wall. They were covered in mud and drenched to the bone. Ralph, short and stocky, was shivering like a leaf. Cat wrapped her cloak around him and took him into her arms. The other boys would have scoffed at her for mothering him, but Wolfram felt sympathetic. Perhaps Ralph needed a hug right now. He ruffled the boy's wet hair.

"You were almost back up. Another few yards and you'd have made it on your own."

"I couldn't see in the dark," Ralph replied in a shaky voice. "I didn't know where I was, and the rocks were all wet. I thought I'd fall if I kept going."

"You're alright now. Come on, you can get warm inside. Cat will fetch you something from the kitchen. And don't listen to Gavin the next time he starts telling tales."

They retraced their steps along the wall until they reached the gate. The small door had been latched from the inside and Wolfram had to bang on it to attract the night watchman's attention. Just as the door was opening, a sudden noise from the trees startled Wolfram. Hoofbeats splashed up the rainswept path. If he'd heard them a second later, he would have been trampled. He threw himself out of the way at the last moment, putting his body in front of Ralph and Cat to shield them from the horse's hooves. The night watchman let out a cry and stumbled back through the doorway. Hot breath snorted against the back of Wolfram's head as the horse reared to a halt inches behind him.

He rounded on the rider angrily. "What the hell are you doing?!"

The young man on horseback was soaked through and breathing hard. He must have been mad to brave the path up the hill in this weather.

"They've killed Hundolf," he gasped. "Percy and his friends, they killed him right in the farmhouse! We need the baron's men."

"Get off your horse and come inside," the night watchman said. "Wolfram, help me open the gate."

A few minutes later, the rider's horse was stabled and the group stood in the great hall, their cloaks trickling a growing puddle of water across the stones beneath their feet. Cat took Ralph into the parlour to get warm, but Wolfram stayed to see what was happening. He wanted to know what this talk of murder was all about. The young man who'd arrived at the gates was clearly distraught. He had a fresh bruise on his face and a panicked look about him, and he wouldn't stop babbling until Lord Erik raised his voice.

"Speak sensibly, man! Who are you and where have you come from?"

A half-circle of people gathered to listen. It was rare for visitors to come this late, let alone in such weather.

The young man took a deep breath and bowed. Then, perhaps as much from exhaustion as in deference, he fell to one knee at Erik's feet.

"They call me Loddy, milord, from Kilwick. There's been a murder. Hundolf, my cousin, he and I were at the farmhouse getting ale. All the workers go there after sundown. Only, Percy Butcher was there, too, and we said to him, we said he doesn't have any business taking ale with us, as he doesn't work the farm. Well, he wasn't being reasonable. He made it into a fight. We tried to calm it down, but him and his friends kept beating my cousin till he couldn't get back up." Loddy's voice rose in anger. "He needs to hang, milord!"

"Are there other witnesses who can attest to this?" Lord Erik asked.

"Half a dozen, at least. We all saw it. I can take you to the village now."

Erik shook his head. "We'll slip to our deaths going down the path in this weather. You'll sleep here in my hall tonight, then at dawn you can take my men back to Kilwick with you. If what you say is true, we'll have the culprits arrested and put on trial."

Loddy didn't look satisfied with the answer, but Erik's expression brooked no argument. He was a decisive man in a crisis. The baron moved back toward the high table, motioning for Dunstan and a few others to come with him. Wolfram followed at the back of the group and was relieved when no one sent him away. He felt proud to be included in a discussion of such importance.

"I want you to take four men tomorrow," Erik told Dunstan. "Find out the truth of what happened and arrest the people responsible. Don't bring them here–put them in the lockup in Firfallow. If we're quick, we can have a trial held before Lord Ricaud arrives. I can't afford to leave this business unresolved while he's here. Do you understand? He'll think the shire is in shambles if everyone's gossiping about some farmhouse murder."

Dunstan wore a look of perplexity.

"Four men? Who do you want me to take? The ones I'd usually bring left this afternoon to escort Lord Ricaud from Tannersfield."

Lord Erik looked at Wolfram. "Take some of the boys. They're trained for this, aren't they? It's about time they started earning their keep. Look at young Wolfram. You can handle some village thugs, can't you?"

"Absolutely, milord," Wolfram answered instinctively. He wasn't sure what the significance of Lord Ricaud's visit was–noble guests came and went all the time–but it seemed very important to the baron, so it was important to Wolfram, too.

"Alright," Dunstan said reluctantly. "I suppose they'll do well enough. Wolf, tell Robin and Gavin I want the three of you up and ready to leave before dawn."

"Are you sure you want Robin?" Lord Erik asked.

"I'll need a clerk to take down names. It'll take all day if I'm the only one asking questions, and we don't want Wolf and Gavin barking at our villagers. Robin knows how to talk to people."

Erik nodded. "You know them best."

When the conversation died down, Wolfram returned to the parlour to dry his wet clothes and tell the others what had happened. He was excited. This would be his first time travelling Elkinshire on official business for the baron.

Finally, he would get the chance to impress his lord.