And the Rest Is History(33)

Markham opened his com to inform Keller we were approaching the castle now.

‘Communal link,’ I said and he nodded. It makes me nervous when we split up. I like my people herded together so I can keep an eye on them. If I can’t have that then we’re all on the communal link so I know exactly what’s going on at all times. Control freak? Moi?

We tucked ourselves behind what looked like a party of local merchants, all in their best clothes and talking loudly so people could see how important they were. They were obviously known to the guards who waved them through. For one moment, I thought we might be that lucky too, but we’re St Mary’s. Luck only happens to other people.

We halted, apparently in surprise that we should be challenged in this way. Bashford broke off what he was saying to frown. I gave them my best haughty Norman matron stare. Which is, actually, exactly the same as my haughty medieval matron stare. And my haughty Elizabethan matron stare. And my haughty Roman matron stare. Behind me, I could sense Markham moving to my shoulder. Just in case.

He wasn’t needed. They were just going through the motions. This was the day Duke William came to Count Guy, and Count Guy wanted as many people as possible to witness this important event. They were packing them in.

We had no chance to look around us. I had a vague impression of a courtyard and dark, towering walls, and then we were hustled through a disappointingly small door and into the Hall itself. Of course, the Hall was built for defence. It made sense to have a small, narrow door through which only one person could enter at a time.

I had an impression of echoing vastness, although the exact dimensions were difficult to ascertain. Despite any number of wildly flickering candles impaled on tripods, and torches thrust into sconces, the corners of the room were near invisible. A few shafts of light filtered through the louvered lantern in the roof high above us, but were lost in the prevailing gloom. And it was gloomy. A large fire burned in the centre from which the smoke curled optimistically up towards the louvres, but the wind outside was so strong that it was immediately blown straight back inside again. Occasionally, a man would appear and fiddle with the long strings that opened and closed the vents, but to no avail. No one seemed particularly bothered, so I could only assume that near-asphyxiation was an accepted hazard in these times. My eyes were stinging. Many people were coughing.

The floor was cold, hard stone; its discomfort only mitigated by the thick layer of crushed rushes spread over the top. They looked fairly fresh – maybe laid down especially for today, but I knew that if I kicked aside the top layer I would find old bones, grease, dog shit, spilled beer – and worse. I left the top layer where it was.

A raised dais stood at the far end, on which stood two ornately carved chairs of equal height and importance, because although William was Guy’s overlord, every man is a lord in his own hall. They’d resolved the problem of who took precedence over whom by moving Guy’s chair from its central and commanding position under the canopy and setting it a little to one side, with William’s chair a meticulously measured equal distance to the other. I suspected that, behind the scenes, a chamberlain or steward was going quietly insane.

The chairs were the only furniture in the place. The eating tables were temporary trestles and had been removed, so today was obviously all about business, not pleasure.

The far wall behind the two chairs was covered by a tapestry, subject unknown in all this gloom, and probably almost completely obscured by layers of smoke and soot anyway.

Two rows of hefty stone pillars marched down the hall, supporting equally hefty smoke-blackened timbers that, in turn, held up the roof – although frankly the whole place was so murky that the roof could have been supported by four elephants standing on the back of a giant turtle and no one would ever know.

We started off near the door, but such was the crush of people still fighting to get in, that without any effort on our part, we found ourselves pushed to the front, our backs to a pillar. We couldn’t have asked for a better position. We stood closely together and refused to budge. People streamed around us. There was a little muttered cursing, but we stood our ground and people left us alone.

Looking around, although the company was predominantly male, there were some women present. About one in five were female. And we were definitely among the better dressed, which made a pleasant change and was probably why, strangers though we were, people were leaving us alone.

We palmed our recorders and got what discreet footage we could. And then we waited.

Two hours. Two bloody hours.

I know the greater part of our job is to stand and wait. Wait for the charge, the fire, the battle, the murder, whatever, and then observe and document. And then we usually to have to run like hell afterwards, of course, so you think we’d be used to it. Sometimes it’s not too bad, but here in this smoke-filled cave – there really was no other word to describe it – the usual standing quietly and waiting was a bit of a bloody ordeal.

According to Markham, there’s a knack. Apparently, you don’t just stand there. That’s the wrong way to do it, according to the Security Section – famed for complicating simple situations since the beginning of time. You don’t stand with your weight on one foot, then the other, then shift it back again, and so on, because that makes at least one leg ache and after a while, your hips and shoulders as well. You should stand straight but relaxed, weight equally on both feet, hands hanging loosely. Then you ease your weight forwards onto the balls of your feet for a few moments and then rock backwards onto your heels. You’re not actually moving but you are – says Markham. Keeps the blood flowing, prevents cramp, aching ankles and knees, sore feet, blood clots and possibly cellulite as well. And for all I know he’s right. Anyway, we stood there, swaying back and forth like a thicket in a strong wind and no one fainted, so we must have been doing something right. Sadly, it does nothing to alleviate boredom. I began to wish I’d stuck with Team William. At least they were out in the fresh air. There were some nasty, wet, hacking coughs in here and a great deal of sputum was being propelled around the place. It really was a miracle anyone made it past the age of twenty.