The two men looked at each other.
“Is this John Rye still at the castle?” Hugh asked.
Bernard frowned. “This is the last day of January. His term of service should be up tomorrow.”
“I will make sure I speak to him before he leaves,” Hugh promised.
Bernard heaved a huge sigh before saying gruffly, “I thank you for coming, lad. It is good to know that you believe in me.”
Moving slowly, Hugh stiffly got to his feet. “Your men in the castle guard believe in you, too, Bernard. It was John Melan who came to fetch me, you know.”
Bernard looked pleased. “Did he, now? I have wondered why John has not been to see me.”
Hugh headed toward the door. “Keep on thinking about this, and if you come up with any other suspects, let me know.”
Bernard stood up as well. “I will do that.”
At the door, Hugh turned around. He seemed to hesitate, then made up his mind. Holding himself very erect, he said, “What about Richard?”
“Richard?” Bernard was clearly startled. “What on earth would Richard have to gain by the death of Gilbert de Beauté?”
“He has a stake in seeing that his father retains his power as sheriff. And it was his squire who found you in the Minster.”
Bernard looked very grave. “I thought that old childhood rivalry between you and Richard would be over, now that you both have grown up.”
Hugh replied in a voice that was carefully contained. “This has nothing to do with any supposed childhood rivalry. The fact of the matter is, it was Richard’s squire who found you. And Richard could easily have given the groom a message for you saying it was from his father.”
Bernard took a few steps forward and held Hugh’s eyes with his own steady gaze. “Do you really think that Richard would kill an earl, not to mention that poor groom, because he was afraid Gervase might lose some of his power as sheriff? Richard has a bright future in front of him, Hugh. All do know that. He is far too intelligent to endanger that future in such a clumsy manner.”
Hugh didn’t reply, but his gray stare was defiant.
Bernard shook his head in bewilderment. “For some
reason, you and Richard don’t like each other. You have never liked each other. Or perhaps I should say that you don’t like Richard. It has always seemed to me as if Richard would like to be friends with you.”
“Our personalities do not mesh,” Hugh said abruptly.
“That may be so, but do not let your dislike trick you into seeing things that aren’t there,” Bernard said.
For a moment, Hugh remained perfectly motionless. Then he nodded. “Fair enough.”
He turned away to face the barred window in the door and called for the knight on guard.
“Where are you staying?” Bernard asked while they waited for the guard to open the door.
A half-rueful, half-amused look came over Hugh’s face.
“With the sheriff,” he said.
The key sounded in the lock and the heavy door swung open.
“Ready to leave, my lord?” the guard asked.
“Aye,” Hugh said. He looked back at Bernard. “I will be back.”
“Good hunting, lad,” the prisoner returned. “And thank you.”
A
lan quietly entered the bedroom where his master’s guest was soaking in the portable wooden bathtub that had been set up under a canopy to help hold the heat.
“Sir Richard sent me to assist you, my lord,” he said.
The wet black head turned toward him.
Alan, like almost every other soul in Lincoln, knew all about the boy who had grown up in town as the foster son of the sheriff and who amazingly had turned out to be the missing son of the Earl of Wiltshire. So now he looked with hidden but intense curiosity at the face that looked back at him.
It was a startlingly beautiful face. Alan stared at the light gray eyes, the thin straight nose, the high cheekbones, and severely beautiful mouth, and felt his eyes widen.
A clear, level voice said, “You can hand me that towel, if you would.”
Alan stepped forward hastily and brought the towel to the young man in the tub, who rubbed his wet hair with it and then stood up, wrapping it around himself. Deftly avoiding the canopy, he stepped onto the
small rug that had been placed next to the tub.
A charcoal brazier had been lit, but the room was still cold. Lord Hugh looked at Alan. “I should like to get dressed quickly,” he said.
“Of course, my lord!” There were two piles of clothes in the room, a heap of muddy ones on the floor beside the tub, and a clean, folded set on top of the chest. Alan went to the neatly folded pile and picked it up.
He began by holding out a pair of linen drawers, which Hugh stepped into and tied at his waist. Then Hugh donned an exquisitely embroidered long-sleeved white shirt. Long hose came next, attaching to the string that held up the drawers, and then, over the shirt, a long-sleeved green wool tunic, which Hugh fastened at his neck with a plain gold brooch. The tunic came to just below the knees and was embroidered along the hem.
When Alan served his own lord, Richard always talked to him, making the squire feel as if he were a friend, not merely a faceless attendant. But Lord Hugh was silent, appearing to be preoccupied by his own thoughts. He hardly glanced at Alan.
Once the brooch had been fastened, Alan handed Hugh a soft leather belt, which he buckled around his waist. Next came a sleeveless blue surcoat, which was lined with lambskin, not fur.
Alan was a little surprised by Hugh’s clothes. They were of good quality, and well made, but they were far from new. Somehow, they were not the kind of garments that Alan expected to see the heir to an earldom wearing.
Of course, Alan thought, Hugh had not held that position for very long. Probably he had not yet had the chance to acquire a new wardrobe.
Still wrapped in silence, Hugh sat on a chest so that Alan could cross-tie his hose. Then he slipped his feet into the pair of soft, low boots that Alan knelt before him to put on. The squire buckled them securely.
In all of this time, the only words Hugh had spoken were to ask for a towel and to express a desire to dress quickly.
Alan, who had been spoiled by Richard’s very different treatment, was a little put out. He straightened up from his kneeling posture and said steadily, “Will that be all, my lord?”
Finally Hugh looked at him. Alan thought that he could almost see the preoccupation lift from the dark-fringed gray eyes. It was as if Hugh were seeing the squire for the first time. He smiled and said, “Thank you. You are very efficient.”
Pleasure out of all proportion to the measured words flooded through the young squire. He found himself smiling back. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Are you the boy who found Bernard Radvers in the Minster with the body of Gilbert de Beauté?” Hugh inquired.
Alan’s smile died. “Aye, my lord.”
“That must have been quite a shock,” Hugh said.
“Aye, my lord, that it was,” Alan returned fervently.
Hugh walked over to the room’s one small table, picked up his knife, and thrust it into the holder that hung from his belt.
“Did you actually see Bernard in the act of stabbing the earl?” he asked, turning once more to face the squire.
“Nay, my lord,” Alan replied. He stood erect, with his arms hanging stiffly at his sides. “I never said I saw that. What I saw was Bernard leaning over the earl.
The earl was already dead when I came into the church.”
“How do you know that?”
For some indefinable reason, Alan felt he had been put on the defensive. He lifted his chin a little as he answered. “I know it because Bernard told me that Lord Gilbert had been murdered and that I should send for the sheriff. And I came close enough to see Lord Gilbert’s body for myself, so I knew that what Bernard said was true, my lord.”
Hugh nodded and regarded Alan thoughtfully. “What did you think had happened?”
“I did not know what had happened, my lord, but Bernard was holding a knife in his hand, and the knife had blood on it.”
“Did you think that Bernard had killed the earl?”
“I thought he might have, my lord,” Alan replied deliberately. “But, as I have already said, I didn’t see him do it. I only saw him kneeling there.”
Hugh nodded gravely. “I see.”
His gray eyes studied Alan for a moment in silence. Alan stared back at him a little defiantly. He felt as if he were being interrogated, and he did not like the feeling. He was also slightly intimidated, which he liked even less.
Hugh said, “I have known Bernard Radvers for almost all my life, and I cannot and will not believe that he has done this thing of which he stands accused. I have come to Lincoln to see if I can discover the real culprit. I would be grateful if you would tell me anything you know that might have a bearing on this business.”
Alan said stiffly, “I know nothing except what I have already told you, my lord.”
Hugh looked as if he did not believe him. “I see.
Well, if you should think of anything, or hear anything, I hope you will come to me.”
“Of course, my lord,” Alan said, even more stiffly than before.
An oddly bleak look came across Hugh’s face. “And now,” he said, “I suppose I had better join the others.”
“I believe they are waiting supper for you, my lord,” Alan said.
“That was kind,” said Hugh, but he did not sound as if he meant it.
Gervase Canville’s town house was one of the newer stone buildings in Lincoln. It was two-storied, and boasted one attic window in its steeply pitched roof. The street door was on the ground floor, which contained the kitchen and the storerooms. The main living room, the solar, was on the second floor, and featured a fireplace built into the wall immediately over the front door. The smoke from the fireplace escaped through flues fashioned to come out on each side of the outside buttress.
Along with other furniture, the room contained a table with four carved chairs set around it. It was at this table that Alan served supper to the sheriff, his son, and his guest.
Gervase had owned the house for less than a year and he was exceedingly proud of it. Alan suspected that he had invited Hugh to stay in order to show off his house to the prospective earl.
Supper was a simple but ample meal. Alan was surprised by how abstemiously Hugh ate. It was almost rude, the squire thought disapprovingly, to eat so little when so much was provided.
The meal only served to confirm Alan’s earlier unfavorable impression of Hugh de Leon. Most particu
larly, the squire did not care for the way Lord Hugh treated Sir Richard. The sheriff’s son spent the entire evening going out of his way to be friendly and courteous, and instead of responding in kind, Lord Hugh was closemouthed and chilly.
As he was undressing Richard for bed later that night, Alan commented tentatively, “Lord Hugh is not very talkative, is he, my lord?”
Richard gave his squire a charming, rueful look. “He has never talked very much to me, I’m afraid.”
“Why is that, my lord?” Alan asked in genuine bewilderment.
Richard smiled and reached out to tousle Alan’s flaxen hair. “Not everyone thinks I’m as wonderful as you do,” he said with amusement.
“They certainly do, my lord!” Alan replied immediately.
Richard shook his head. “Hugh and I have known each other since we were children together at the Minster school. For some reason, I think he has always seen himself as being in competition with me.
He
was the sheriff’s son then, and he thought he should be better in everything than everyone else. He did not like it when anyone bested him.”
Alan slid Richard’s shirt off his shoulders and looked with pride at the half-naked body of his lord. No one was as splendid as Richard, he thought. Why, Hugh was not much taller than Alan himself. Next to Richard, Hugh looked small.
He nodded wisely. “I see.”
“The annoying thing is that I like Hugh,” Richard said. “I have always wanted to be friends with him. But he holds me at a distance. He always has.”
Alan folded Richard’s shirt and put it down on a
chest. He picked up a fur-lined bedrobe and said, “He is jealous of you, my lord.”
“He has no cause to be,” Richard said. “Hugh is extraordinarily competent at everything he does. And he is an earl’s son! He certainly has no reason to envy me.”
“Anyone would envy you, my lord,” Alan said with absolute conviction.
Richard laughed. “Yours is hardly an objective opinion, Alan.”
The squire held up the bedrobe for Richard to slip his arms into. “He asked me a lot of questions about that night in the Minster,” he said with a troubled frown.
Richard nodded serenely. “He asked me if he might talk to you and I said that he could.”
Alan’s brow cleared. As the evening had progressed, he had begun to wonder if he should have talked to Hugh at all. Although, to be truthful, there was something about the earl’s son that made it difficult for Alan to picture refusing him.
“He told me,” said the young squire, “that he doesn’t believe Bernard is guilty, my lord. He said that he is going to look for the real murderer.”
Richard tied the sash of his deep blue robe. “I hope he does find someone else. I would hate to see Bernard hang.”
Alan picked up Richard’s boots to take them to the kitchen to clean. “Do you believe Bernard did it, my lord?”
Richard’s face was sober. “I don’t want to believe it but, unfortunately, I haven’t been able to think of anyone else to put in his place.”
Alan clutched the boots. “I think he did it, my lord.
He was kneeling right over the earl. And he was holding the knife!”
Richard sighed. “I know, Alan. I know.”
He looked tired, and Alan thought with sudden contrition that he was keeping Richard up with his chatter. “Is there aught else I can do for you, my lord?”
“No, thank you, Alan. I will wish you good night.”
“Good night, my lord,” Alan replied, bowed, and withdrew to go and clean Richard’s boots before seeking his own bed in the attic.
There was frost on the ground the following morning. The warm spell had snapped during the night, and the ground was once more frozen and hard.
Hugh broke his fast in the room where he had eaten supper the previous night. Once again, the only others at table were Gervase and Richard. As had been the case in Ralf’s town house, the rest of the household took their meals in the kitchen.
Gervase’s house was much larger than Ralf’s town house had been, however. The number of rooms was the same, but the Canville rooms were more than twice the size of those in the house where Hugh had grown up.
In truth, Hugh was a little surprised to see how very well Gervase seemed to live. He had always thought that the Canvilles inhabited the same social and economic level as the Corbailles. Like Ralf, Gervase owned several manors within the shire, which had been given to his father by the old king, Henry I. And like Ralf, Gervase swore his feudal oath directly to the king himself.
When Ralf had died, leaving only one foster son who was just twenty, Gervase had been the most likely candidate to become the new sheriff.
Hugh had always assumed that Ralf and Gervase were as similar in terms of wealth as they were in everything else. But Ralf could never have afforded this house.
“What are you planning to do today, Hugh?” Gervase asked as the men ate their bread and drank their morning ale.
Hugh planned to try to catch John Rye before he left Lincoln, but he did not wish to impart this fact to Gervase. He said instead, “I thought I would talk to the garrison guards.”
“I have already questioned them thoroughly,” Gervase said. “They don’t believe Bernard is guilty, but they have nothing substantial to advance that would advocate in his favor.”
“Well,” Hugh said mildly, “at least talking to them will give me a chance to renew old acquaintances.”
There was a moment of tense silence.
Then Gervase shrugged. “Oh, talk to the guards if you will. Just make certain that you let me know if you unearth some important fact that I might have missed.” There was the faintest trace of sarcasm in his voice.
“Of course,” Hugh replied gravely.
“When do you plan to meet with the Lady Elizabeth?” Richard said.
Hugh had been reaching for his ale cup, but now stilled his hand. “Why should I wish to meet with the Lady Elizabeth?”
Richard’s blue eyes regarded him with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Good heavens, Hugh, the girl thinks she is betrothed to you! Surely, under the circumstances, she deserves that you at least meet with her.”
A sharp line appeared between Hugh’s black brows.
“I was never betrothed to her. No marriage settlements were drawn up. Nothing was signed. There was no betrothal.”
“That may be so,” Richard agreed, “but the intention of a betrothal had certainly been announced. Lady Elizabeth had every expectation that you and she would be wed. Now her father is dead and her world has been thrown into chaos. It would be most unkind of you to ignore her.”
Hugh scowled furiously. He knew that Adela would have agreed with Richard, and that thought annoyed him intensely.
“Oh, all right,” he snapped. “I shall go to see the girl. But I am going to make it very clear that I never had any intention of marrying her.”
Richard’s squire, who had been in the process of refilling his master’s ale cup, jerked his arm and spilled some liquid on the well-scoured wood.