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want you to find out exactly how many men and horses will be going – I’ve sent a boy for the muster rolls – work out what each needs per day, and then calculate how much will be needed for forty days. When you’ve done that for each type of supply, send the boy to me with the details, so I can arrange for the stores to be fetched and packed. Pens and ink are there.’ He gestured to the end of the table. ‘All right?’ Edwin nodded, and William gave him a brief but hearty thump on the shoulder by way of thanks then left, shouting for his wife as he went.
    Grimacing and rubbing his shoulder, Edwin pulled the quills towards him and took out his knife to sharpen them. If ever a man had been born to be a steward, William was not he, and as he always did, Edwin wondered how in the Lord’s name he had come to be given the exalted position. William had once been a soldier, but had been wounded in the service of the old earl and couldn’t continue. He never spoke of the circumstances, but Edwin’s guess was that he’d rendered some service to the earl as, instead of being pensioned off or left to find his own way in the world, he’d been made steward, in charge of all the stores and supplies at the Conisbrough estate. He was – in Edwin’s opinion anyway – unsuited to the job, having a blunt soldier’s outlook on life and no head for figures whatsoever. However, over the years he’d learned his new trade fairly well and was now competent, except when it came to making large calculations. But he deserved a new chance at life: whatever his service to the earl had been, he’d paid a high price for it. He walked with a permanent limp as one leg was twisted; a horrific scar disfigured the entire left side of his face, and part of his left ear was missing. The one advantage of this, if any aspect of such a grave injury could be called an advantage, was that the scar gave his face a terrible, almost demonic look, and all his underlings and the traders who dealt with him were so intimidated that nobody ever tried to cheat him. This belied the fact that he was even-tempered and pleasant, but it was useful nonetheless. He was also married to Edwin’s mother’s sister, and so deserved not only respect but affection as well, which was why Edwin seemed to spend so much of his time helping him, he supposed. The quills sharpened, Edwin took a deep breath, dipped one in the ink, and started to write. The figures arranged themselves neatly in his head as he became engrossed.
    By the time he looked up from his labours the room was almost dark. He smelt the evening meal being prepared and realised he was hungry. Giving the last parchment to a very tired-looking serving-boy, he put the pen down and stretched his arms. He was exhausted, but that was good. Maybe he would be able to sleep tonight. He drifted in something of a daze into the hall, wandered down to one of the lower tables which ran lengthways down the room, and found himself a seat next to Berold. When all were assembled the earl entered, followed by his sister and his squires and page. Everyone stood while Father Ignatius said grace, and then the earl sat, with Lady Isabelle on his right and Sir Geoffrey on his left, which was the signal for all to take their places and begin eating. Edwin nodded his thanks to the serving-man who placed a trencher in front of him, and then began to eat with gusto when it was loaded with a thick pottage and a piece of good maslin bread to dip into it. As it was Monday, meat was permitted, which gave the pottage a hearty flavour, and Edwin applied himself to working his way through it all as quickly as possible. He was so hungry that he ate the trencher as well, feeling a moment’s guilt that the soaked bread wouldn’t go to the poor, but knowing that there would be plenty of others. As he ate he tried to catch Robert’s eye, but his friend was too far away, and was, in any case, busy serving the earl with the different dishes at the