No Dark Place (23 page)

Then they were in front of the room Hugh had occupied on his earlier visits to Evesham. Alyce pushed the door open and went inside.

Hugh and Thomas followed.

Alyce went over to the bed to check that it had sheets on it.

Satisfied that it was properly made up, she turned around. “I’ll send a page with water.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Hugh said.

“I hope you feel well soon,” she said pleasantly, and left.

“This will just take a minute,” Thomas said, and quickly and efficiently, he got Hugh out of his wet cloak, his sword belt, his mail, his spurs, and his boots.

Another wave of nausea swept through Hugh.

“Is there a basin?” he asked Thomas desperately.

Thomas grabbed the empty washbowl and handed it to Hugh, who was sick once more.

Once it was over, he crawled into the bed and curled up on his side under the fur cover.

The pain stabbed on.

He shut his eyes. “I’ll be all right,” he said to Thomas. “You’re wet and hungry. Go downstairs and join the others.”

“There’s nothing else I can do for you?”

“No.”

“All right, then,” Thomas said hesitantly. “Try to get some sleep.”

“Aye,” Hugh said, although he knew that sleep would be impossible until the pain subsided.

Finally he was alone.

Lying in the big bed under the rich fur cover, Hugh settled in to endure.

It was late afternoon when the sharp stabbing agony finally muted to a dull ache. Gradually that too subsided, until only a faint tenderness remained in the muscle on the left side of his neck.

Slowly Hugh sat up in bed, linked his arms around his legs, and rested his pain-free forehead on his knees.

God, what an entrance
, he thought bitterly.

The bedroom door opened and a page looked in. Hugh had heard the door open and close periodically while he was lying in bed, but he had kept his back to the door and lay still. Now the page saw that he was awake, however, and advanced into the room.

“Are you feeling better, my lord?” he asked courteously.

“Aye,” said Hugh.

“The household is at supper. If you wish to join them I will help you make ready.”

Hugh moistened his dry lips with his tongue. “Is…is the lady Isabel at supper in the hall?”

“No, my lord. Lady Isabel takes her meals in the ladies’ solar.”

Hugh felt wrung out and exhausted. A headache always left him in this condition. But he could put this off no longer. It had to be done now.

He said steadily, “Will you go and ask the lady Isabel if she will see me?”

“Aye, my lord,” the page said. He hesitated, as if he would add something, then changed his mind and left the room.

Hugh got out of bed and looked down at his clothes. His shirt was a mass of wrinkles, and his hose were stained with the mud the horses had kicked up from the wet road.

Adela would be furious with me if I presented myself to my mother in such a state
, he thought.

The automatic reflex of never doing anything Adela would not like sent Hugh first to the washbasin and then to the wooden chest along the wall. Someone had folded his spare clothes into it, and he lifted out a clean linen shirt and began to change.

The page returned with word that Isabel would see her son. The boy helped Hugh finish dressing and then knelt to tie the leather cross-garters around his hose.

Finally there were no more excuses to delay. Hollow-eyed and pale, Hugh left his bedroom and went down the passage to the ladies solar.

He was admitted by a serving woman, who slipped out the door as soon as he entered, leaving him alone with the woman who waited for him inside.

The solar was large and well-furnished, with pieces of sewing and embroidery spread out on a large table along one of the walls. The room was well-lit by candles. A charcoal brazier gave off a glowing heat and the floor was covered by a rug. Isabel was sitting in a heavily carved chair in front of the window, whose
shutters were closed against the cold November rain.

Hugh advanced toward her slowly. His heart was hammering so loudly that he thought for certain she must hear it. He stopped when he was yet four feet away from her.

“My lady,” he said. “I am glad to find you safe.”

She didn’t answer, just looked at him as if she could not believe that he was really there.

Her eyes were dark, dark blue. That was what Hugh saw. Not the beautiful bone structure that was so like his own, but the eyes.

He remembered them.

His lips parted, but no words came out.

Isabel said, “Hugh.” Her voice was faintly husky. Wonder and joy shone in the deep blueness of her eyes. “Hugh, it is really you!”

He swallowed. “So it seems.”

“I have prayed,” she said. “For so long I have prayed that you were still alive.” She laughed shakily. “But to actually see you again…”

The blue eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t cry,” Hugh said hoarsely. “Please don’t cry.”

He, who never felt physically awkward, did not know what to do with himself.

Isabel gestured to the footstool that was in front of her chair. “Will you sit here, so we may talk?”

Hugh crossed the remaining space that separated them and cautiously lowered himself to the stool. It put him at a lower level than her chair, so he had to lift his eyes to look at her.

He felt like a child again.

He said, “I am sorry that I did not stay to see you the last time you were here.”

He didn’t try to explain why he had run away.

She shook her head. “You have nothing to be sorry about, Hugh.” Slowly she reached out her fingers and lovingly touched his cheek. He remained perfectly still under her gentle caress.

“They tell me that you have lost all memory of your childhood,” she said.

“Some of it is coming back,” he said. His nostrils quivered slightly. “I remember your eyes.”

Her face lit as if he had just given her the most precious gift in the world. “Do you?”

He nodded.

She took her hand away from his face and said anxiously, “You were ill when you arrived this morning? Are you well now? You still look very pale.”

“I had a headache, that is all,” he said. “I’m all right now.”

Her delicately arched brows drew together. “What kind of a headache?”

He shrugged. “Just a headache. It makes me sick to my stomach, however, so I need to keep to my room until it goes away.”

Her frown did not lift. “When did you start getting headaches? You did not have them when you were a child.”

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “They started just recently. They’re a nuisance, that is all.”

Isabel regarded him somberly. “I get headaches like that,” she said.

His eyes widened in surprise.

“A fine heritage I have bequeathed to you,” she said. In her voice was a mixture of sorrow and bitterness.

Hugh did not know what to answer.

She folded her hands in her lap. “Will you tell me something of your life since…since you left Chippenham? I hear you were fostered by the Sheriff of Lincoln.”

Hugh could talk about Ralf and Adela. He told her how Ralf had found him and brought him home. He told her about Adela and how she had insisted on keeping him. He told her about his life with them.

“You loved your foster mother very much,” Isabel said quietly when Hugh had finished.

“Aye,” said Hugh.

“I’m glad, Hugh.” Her voice ached with love and with sadness. “I’m so glad that you had someone like Adela to take care of you. And this Ralf sounds as if he was a good man.”

“He was a very good man,” Hugh said quietly.

Her smile was full of pain. “You were more fortunate in your foster parents than you were in your natural ones.”

Hugh dropped his eyes.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the drumming of the rain against the shutters.

Then Hugh said resolutely, “My lady, there is something I need to ask you.” He met her eyes
directly and brought it out. “Do you know who killed your husband?”

The lovely rose-colored flush that had been blooming in her cheeks drained away. “Hugh,” she said. “Leave that alone.”

“I cannot,” he said. “I think I was there when it happened.”

She went ashen. “Why do you say that?”

“I remember seeing his body. I remember blood…”

He shook his head as if to clear it.

“It was Walter Crespin who killed your father,” his mother said. “I thought everyone knew that.”

“Why would a mere household knight want to kill his lord?” Hugh said steadily. “What would he have to gain by such a dreadful deed?”

Isabel looked away. She shook her head. “I do not know,” she said in a constricted voice.

Hugh made the discovery that he was incapable of taxing his mother with the story he had heard at Chippenham.

He said instead, “Two days ago I was on my way to Winchester to see Father Anselm. I only turned back because I heard rumors that Gloucester was on the verge of attacking Worcester.”

A spark of hope awoke in her deep blue eyes. “Were you perhaps worried about me?”

“Aye,” he said.

“Oh, Hugh. Oh, my darling son.” She leaned forward, reached her arms around him, and drew him close so that his head was pressed against her breast.

Hugh let himself be held.

She was crying. He could feel her tears wet his hair.

She doesn’t want me to know
, he thought.
Why?

At last her grasp on him loosened and she sat back in her chair. The tears, which he knew had been genuine, had not reddened her eyes or her nose. Her face was as beautiful as ever.

He said soberly, “I am still going to see Father Anselm.”

She wrung her hands. “Why can’t you be satisfied with what you already know? You can’t change anything, Hugh! Your father has been dead for fourteen years.”

He said to her what he had only ever said to Cristen. “I feel as if I am but half a person without my memory. I feel as if I am a cripple. I have to know what happened to me if I am ever going to be whole again.”

She looked into his eyes, long and deep. Then she shuddered. “All right. But I cannot tell you, Hugh.” Her face had a haunted look. “You will have to talk to Father Anselm.”

“Then that is what I will do,” said Hugh.

A
fter leaving his mother, Hugh returned to his room, ripped off his clothes, tumbled into bed, and dropped like a stone into the sleep of utter exhaustion. He awoke to the morning light streaming through the partially opened shutter at his window. The bedroom was freezing. His stomach felt perfectly steady and he was hungry.

He dressed himself and made his way down to the Great Hall for the breaking of fast.

The first person he saw when he came into the room was Isabel, seated at the high table next to Simon. Hugh hesitated, then slowly made his way through the tables where the rest of the household were eating. As he passed the table where Thomas was sitting, he gave the young knight a brief, reassuring smile.

He reached the high table and took the empty seat at Isabel’s side. They exchanged restrained good mornings.

Simon leaned a little forward so he could see around his sister and said, “I hope you are feeling better this morning, Hugh.”

“Thank you, sir. I am.”

“I understand that you were in Worcester shortly after the attack.”

“Aye,” Hugh said. He waited while a page put a cup of ale in front of him. “We arrived toward evening, after Gloucester’s troops had left the area.”

Simon frowned. “What condition was the city in?”

“It was as you might expect,” Hugh replied. He picked up his cup of ale. “The livestock had been driven off, women raped, men murdered, and fires were burning everywhere.”

A little silence fell as those at the high table digested this horrific news.

Hugh took a thirsty swallow of his ale.

Then Isabel asked fearfully, “How did the convent fare?”

“It was stripped of most of its furnishings and the outbuildings were burned,” Hugh said. He forbore to mention the novices who had been kidnapped. She could find that out from someone other than her son.

Simon said defensively, “Miles of Gloucester is waging war just as Stephen is. The only difference is that Miles is more successful than the king.”

“Really, Simon,” Isabel protested indignantly. Spots of color burned in her cheeks. “To rob and burn a convent! How can you possibly justify that? Even in times of war, the Church should be sacrosanct.”

“I understand that the soldiers were drunk,” Hugh said.

“The poor sisters,” Isabel mourned. She turned to her brother. “I should never have let you talk me into leaving them. I should have remained in Worcester. I could have helped.”

“You were right to leave,” Simon said forcefully. “And the sisters should have had the sense to leave with you. I offered them the shelter of Evesham.”

Juliana, who was seated on Hugh’s other side and who had been listening to the conversation with avid curiosity, now said earnestly, “I hope you will remain here with us at Evesham, Aunt Isabel.”

Lady Alyce seconded this invitation from her seat on the far side of Simon.

Isabel was looking very distressed. “Thank you, but I feel that I must return to Worcester.”

“Really, Isabel, you might think of us for a change. It’s not as if you were indispensable to the convent, you know,” Simon said angrily.

She flushed. “I know I am not indispensable, but at least I can be another pair of hands.”

“Men from the town were helping the nuns set things to rights,” Hugh said mildly. “I do not think that you should return to Worcester until things have settled down, my lady. I have little doubt that the king will send troops to reinforce the garrison there and with the way feelings are running in the town, it is no place for the sister of a known supporter of Gloucester to be found.”

“Hugh is right,” Simon said. “You had much better remain here, Isabel, where you will be safe.”

She shook her head slightly, as if in refusal.

“Please,” said Hugh.

She turned and her eyes met his. After a moment, she bit her lip and said unwillingly, “All right, Hugh. If you really think that is best.”

“I do,” he said.

“Are you going to stay with us as well, Hugh?” Juliana asked brightly.

Hugh continued to hold his mother’s gaze. “No,” he said. “This morning I leave for Winchester.”

The day was cold and the sky was a hard clear blue when Hugh and Nigel’s three knights rode away from the great stone walls of Evesham. They pushed forward steadily and after several hours had crossed the border of Gloucestershire and entered Wiltshire.

That was when Hugh informed his escort that he planned to make a brief stop at the castle of Abrille.

“Abrille?” Thomas said in surprise. “Why do you wish to go there, Hugh?”

“I have some questions I’d like to have answered,” Hugh replied evenly. “It isn’t far out of our way and my business won’t take long.”

Thomas exchanged a look with his fellow knights. Clearly Hugh was not going to tell them anything. Shrugging his shoulders, Thomas resigned himself to the delay, settled into his saddle, and followed Hugh without comment when he turned off the main road to ride east along a narrow woodland path.

At least it wasn’t raining.

When Abrille finally rose before them, Thomas saw that it was an old-fashioned wooden motte and bailey castle that was smaller than Somerford. It was situated on a small river but, oddly enough, it was not surrounded by a moat.

The guards at the main gate challenged Hugh’s party and asked them to state their business.

While Hugh talked to the sentry, Thomas cast his eyes over the castle and its environs. He figured it could be reduced by siege in a matter of two days.

The sentry sent someone to the castle with a message. Hugh and the knights waited.

The messenger returned and at last they were admitted through the gate and into the outer bailey.

Utterly mystified, Thomas and his companions dismounted and allowed grooms to take their horses. Then they trailed after Hugh as he crossed through the inner gate and into the inner bailey.

The baileys were in good order, Thomas admitted to himself. And the men seemed to be well disciplined.

What the devil is Hugh doing here?
he thought as they were met by a squire, who escorted them up the ramp and into the Great Hall of the castle. A small group of men were seated before the fire, engaged in a game of backgammon.

The squire led Hugh up to the gray-haired man with the aquiline nose who was sitting closest to the fire and announced, “Sir Hubert, here is Hugh Corbaille of Keal.”

From his position a few feet behind Hugh, Thomas could see how all of the men around the fire were staring at Hugh. Evidently his resemblance to Guy was not going unnoticed.

“I am very sorry to trouble you, Sir Hubert, but I have a very important matter to discuss with you.”

Hugh’s voice was quiet but underlined with unmistakable authority.

The older man lifted his splendid nose. “Aye? And just what is this matter, Hugh
Corbaille
?”

“It is something private,” Hugh said. “May I speak to you alone?”

Sir Hubert frowned, and for a moment Thomas thought he was going to refuse. Then, moving painfully, as if his joints were hurting, he got to his feet. “Come along to the solar with me,” he said grimly.

“Thank you,” said Hugh.

The two men crossed the floor in the direction of a door that was set into the hall’s east wall.

The castle was laid out very similarly to Somerford, Thomas thought. It was just built on a smaller scale.

Hugh and Sir Hubert disappeared.

The squire who had escorted them said courteously to Hugh’s knights, “Would you care for some wine?”

“Thank you,” Thomas replied. “That would be refreshing.”

The knights who had been playing backgammon gestured for them to take a seat.

Thomas sat down, stretched out his legs, and resigned himself to answering questions about Hugh’s resemblance to Abrille’s overlord.

Twenty minutes later, Hugh and Sir Hubert were back. Both men looked very grave.

When Hugh saw his men sitting around drinking wine, he made an impatient gesture for them to rise.

“Won’t you stop for some wine yourself?” Sir Hubert asked with stiff courtesy.

“No, thank you, sir,” Hugh returned. “We must be on our way.”

Sir Hubert did not press him to change his mind.

Ten minutes later, Hugh and his escort were riding through the gate of Abrille and heading back toward the road to Winchester.

The rest of the journey went smoothly. They spent the night in an abbey stable, as the monks’ guest quarters were already filled to capacity by refugees from Worcester. They left the abbey as soon as the sun was up, and by late afternoon they were riding through the Kingsgate into Winchester.

They proceeded directly to the cathedral. The knights waited in the courtyard with the horses while Hugh went into the church to see if he could locate Father Anselm.

He entered through the large front doors, walked down the side aisle, and stood quietly, looking around.

A priest who was too short and thick to be Father Anselm was kneeling in front of a statue of the
Virgin. A young man dressed in the garb of a prosperous merchant knelt in one of the front pews, his head lowered into his hands. A number of old women were scattered here and there about the church, their lips moving in prayer.

The scent of old incense and burning candles hung in the cold air.

There was no sign of Father Anselm.

Hugh left the church and inquired in the courtyard for the residence of the priests. The building pointed out to him was an ordinary stone townhouse standing at the edge of the cathedral grounds. It in no way resembled the magnificent palace at Wolvesey that housed the Bishop of Winchester—who also happened to be the papal legate and King Stephen’s brother.

Hugh knocked at the residence door, which was answered after a minute by a woman who was obviously the housekeeper. She was short and heavy and had three distinct chins.

Father Anselm was not in at the moment, she told Hugh, but she expected him back for supper.

“I wonder if you would give him a message for me?” Hugh asked.

She nodded encouragingly, causing the three chins to wobble. “Of course.”

“Please tell him that Hugh de Leon desires speech with him. I will return later.” Hugh stepped back as if preparing to leave, but then he had a further thought. “Perhaps you could also say that I come with the blessing of the Lady Isabel.”

The housekeeper’s small button eyes glittered curiously as she pondered this enigmatic message. “I will tell him,” she said.

“My men and I will find lodging in the city and I will return at suppertime to see Father Anselm,” Hugh repeated.

She smiled broadly, revealing teeth that were startlingly white. “I will tell him.”

“Thank you,” Hugh said, and left.

He and the knights found an inn not far from the cathedral, and by the time they had seen to the stabling of their horses and eaten supper the day was growing dark.

Hugh left the knights to the warmth and camaraderie of the inn’s taproom and went out into the cold November air to return to the cathedral. He left his mail and his sword behind at the inn, but took the precaution of tucking a dagger into his belt. He did not want to be surprised again while he was unarmed.

The same housekeeper as before answered the door of the priests’ residence, and this time she told him that Father Anselm was in.

As soon as Hugh stepped into the house, he saw that it was built in similar fashion to Ralf’s townhouse in Lincoln. The front door opened onto a small landing, which had stairs going up to the residence’s main level. Also on the landing was a closed door, which Hugh knew hid the stairs that led to the basement.

The housekeeper took him up to the main floor.
At the top of the stairs she turned left, leading him into a small unoccupied chamber.

“I will tell Father that you are here,” she said.

The candles in the room had not been lit and it was quite dark. Hugh peered around and saw that the furnishings consisted of two chairs, one stool, one charcoal brazier, and two small tables upon which reposed two half-burned-down, unlit candles.

The brazier was also unlit and the room was frigid.

The sound of male voices drifted to Hugh’s ears. The priests must still be at supper, he thought.

The housekeeper waddled back into the room with a taper and proceeded to light the candles on the two tables. She also lit the charcoal in the brazier and fastened the window shutters.

“Father is finishing his supper. He will be with you shortly,” she told Hugh kindly.

“Thank you,” he said.

Alone again, he could feel tension in every muscle of his body. His chest felt constricted and breathing was an effort. The pork pie he had eaten for supper was not sitting well in his stomach.

He stood by the brazier and stared down into the coals, which had not yet begun to give off any heat. He was shivering, but it was with tension, not with cold.

Finally he heard steps approaching, and then the tall figure of Father Anselm appeared in the doorway.

“Hugh,” the priest said. His voice was husky with emotion.

“Father,” Hugh returned. He was relieved to hear that his own voice sounded fairly normal.

The priest advanced slowly into the room. There was a strained look in his brown eyes and his fingers rubbed nervously at the cord around the waist of his brown robe. He looked at Hugh and said, “Mistress Alney said you wished to speak to me.”

Hugh said, “I have come to you, Father, because I am trying to find out about my past and I think that you can help me.”

For a long moment, Father Anselm stared at him in silence. The strain on the priest’s face was unmistakable. “I will give you some good advice, Hugh,” he said heavily. “Leave the past alone.”

Hugh shook his head. “I can no longer go on living with only half a life. I need to find out about my childhood.”

The priest moved to one of the chairs and sat down. His movements looked indescribably weary. “Haven’t you seen your mother? Surely she can answer your questions better than I.”

“She sent me to you.”

A spasm of some undefinable emotion crossed the priest’s face.