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high table, pouring his wine, and keeping an eye on Simon to see that he was performing the same services for Lady Isabelle. Martin, who was attending to Sir Geoffrey, was doing so in an exemplary fashion and from what Edwin could see rarely needed a word from his senior.
    At the end of the meal the earl rose and retired from the room, indicating to his squires and page that they could now help themselves. He left with Sir Geoffrey; the rest of the people in the hall started to disperse, and Robert, Martin and Simon all took trenchers and piled them high with food before making their way down the hall to where Edwin was. He looked enviously at their meals: it was no feast day, but the food from the high table was still something to be marvelled at. The pottage served to the main hall had been perfectly adequate, but here were some real delicacies such as venison haunch, quails and a tart made with thick, creamy rewain cheese, as well as real white paindemain bread. Edwin felt hungry all over again. Martin and Simon – whose platter was heaped so high he could barely see over it – thumped down on to the bench opposite Edwin, while Robert seated himself next to his friend and indicated that he should help himself to some of the food on the trencher. Edwin dipped a chunk of the light bread into the rich sauce which covered the quails, and savoured it while he waited eagerly to hear all the news.
    Robert ate a large mouthful before starting. ‘You already know that we’re going to join the war?’ Edwin nodded. Not only did he know that, but he also knew exactly how many men the earl would be taking, and what supplies would be provided for each of them, but he didn’t interrupt. Simon tried to ask a question but choked on the enormous piece of venison which he was busy stuffing into his mouth. Martin thumped him hard on the back and he gave a large swallow before continuing in his piping voice. ‘But I don’t understand. Why have we changed sides?’ Edwin nodded, as he also had to admit to confusion about some of the details. He was glad that Simon had asked, to save him the embarrassment of sounding foolish.
    Robert sighed. ‘I’d better start from the beginning.’ He ate another large spoonful of the cheese tart as he considered his next words. ‘All right then. Now, as you know, the old king —,’ Simon spluttered again and sprayed breadcrumbs on the table, but Robert seemed to understand, ‘Yes, Simon, that’s right – he was a bad king.’
    Edwin concentrated hard on Robert’s words and tried to make sense of it all. King John hadn’t respected the rights of his nobles and knights, so they’d rebelled against him. That made sense. The king had had to sign the Great Charter and agree to uphold the nobles’ rights, but even then he didn’t respect them, so the nobles eventually tired of his empty promises and offered the crown to someone else. Presumptuous, yes, but still making sense. They’d offered it to Prince Louis, the son of the French king. That was a bit of a logical leap – why the French prince and not someone else? He’d have to check up later, but he wasn’t going to make himself look stupid by interrupting now. Anyway, Robert was continuing. The earl hadn’t been one of these disaffected nobles to start with, but he came round to their way of thinking and joined them later. But then, last autumn, the king died, and he was succeeded by his son, who was only nine years old.
    Robert’s voice was full of laughter as he looked down. ‘Just imagine that, Simon: someone the same age as you being king!’
    Simon was busy chewing and didn’t answer, but his eyes widened as Robert continued. ‘So, clearly this meant that some of the nobles changed their ideas. All of the complaints about John’s injustice and misrule could hardly be brought against a young boy.’ He paused and took another mouthful. Martin too was eating steadily but hugely, as if he would keep going until the day of