No Dark Place (6 page)

Nigel frowned skeptically.

“Why not try it?” Hugh said. “You have nothing to lose. The way you are going now, you soon won’t be able to get a shoe on him at all.”

“Hugh is right, Father,” Cristen said. She rubbed Byrony’s soft nose. “Poor fellow,” she said. “Is Giles hurting you?”

The horse snorted, as if he agreed.

“Not as much as he is hurting me, my lady,” the blacksmith said gloomily.

“The more you fight with him over this, the more frightened and defensive he will become,” Hugh said.

“I suppose it’s worth a try,” Nigel conceded. “He’s a good horse, but he will be useless to me if he can’t be shod.”

“If you want, I will work with him,” Hugh said. “I have always gotten along well with horses.”

“Very well,” Nigel said after a minute. “Thank you, Hugh.”

“Shall I finish this shoe, Sir Nigel?” the blacksmith asked. “There’s only the one more nail to put in.”

“Aye, finish it, but try not to lift his leg so high.”

“Aye, Sir Nigel,” the blacksmith returned even more gloomily than before.

By the time Giles finally managed to get the last shoe on Byrony, it was time for dinner. Nigel, Cristen, and Hugh left the blacksmith’s hut and began to walk toward the bridge that connected the bailey to the castle.

“This afternoon I thought I would show you some of the farms that belong to Somerford,” Nigel said to Hugh as they crossed the last part of the bridge, the drawbridge. The two men were walking side by side. Cristen was behind them with her dogs.

“That would be enjoyable,” Hugh replied courteously.

“And tomorrow morning I will conduct a knightly practice session, which I hope you will join,” Nigel went on. “We have been working hard for the last few weeks to prepare for the tournament.”

Hugh’s chin lifted. “Tournament?” he said. “What tournament are you talking about? Tournaments have been outlawed in England for years.”

“Well, strictly speaking, it is not a tournament at all, although in many ways it mimics one,” Nigel returned. “It is held every year at Chippenham Castle by Earl Guy in conjunction with the fair put on by the town in honor of their local saint.”

The guards on the inner wall were changing. The men who had just been relieved of duty were descending the steps from the sentry walk to the courtyard.

Hugh said, “Surely you do not expect me to accompany you to this tournament?”

“Why not?” Nigel replied. “It will be the perfect opportunity for you to see your old home.”

They stepped off the drawbridge onto the hard-packed dirt of the courtyard.

Hugh was frowning.

“You can go to Chippenham as part of my retinue of knights,” Nigel said reasonably. “There will be no reason for you to stand out from the others. It is a perfect opportunity for you to see the earl and to judge for yourself whether or not I have exaggerated your resemblance to him. It will also give you a chance to visit the castle where you spent the first seven years of your life.”

Hugh did not reply.

“You have nothing to lose and everything to gain,” Nigel said.

Still Hugh said nothing.

Cristen moved up to walk beside him.

“I have to go, too,” she said with resignation. “Lord Guy likes to have ladies present to admire all the manly exhibitions.”

A corner of Hugh’s mouth twitched with amusement.

“You don’t sound as if you approve of these ‘manly exhibitions,’” he said.

“Everyone sweats so much,” Cristen said.

Hugh’s mouth twitched again.

She added, “And the festivities in the castle hall tend to get rather boisterous.”

“Guy’s hall is well known for its debauchery,”
Nigel said disapprovingly. “He keeps a large household and there is always much gaming and intemperance. Chippenham was a very different place under the old earl. Roger was an austere, ascetic man. The two of them may look alike, but temperamentally no brothers could be more different.”

“Cristen told me earlier that Earl Roger had been on crusade,” Hugh said. “I did not know that.”

Nigel sighed with faint exasperation. “It is the greatest pity that this present generation has forgotten the names of all the great men who retook Jerusalem for the church. Let me tell you, Hugh, that Roger de Leon, your father, was the one who first breached the gates of the holy city. He was a living legend among his own generation.”

“I see,” Hugh said. His face was closed and still.

“The last time we were at Chippenham, Father had to rescue me from the unwelcome embrace of a very large, very drunken knight,” Cristen said. “This year, you can look after me as well, Hugh.”

He smiled down at her. “I should be glad to,” he said.

T
he rain held off until Simon of Evesham and his escort of five knights were almost at the doors of the Benedictine convent in Worcester.

“God’s bones,” Simon said to the young knight who rode by his side. “Ten more minutes and we would have escaped it.” He scowled with annoyance and pulled the hood of his light wool cloak up over his head.

“I don’t mind the rain,” Philip replied. “I think it feels refreshing. The road has been so dusty that my throat hurts.” He held his face up to the sky as if he would drink in the flow of water cascading from the dark clouds above.

Simon grunted and pulled his hood even further forward. “All I can say is that there had better be a good reason for my sister to have sent for me at such a time. I don’t want to be away from Evesham for long. I expect to have news any day now that Earl Robert has landed.”

There was a stream in front of them, with a narrow bridge that required their party of six to file across it one by one.

Ducks floated on the rain-dappled, greenish water and an old boat was moored along the far shore.

When they had reached the other side of the bridge and Philip was once more riding next to Simon, the young knight said, “It’s been a long wait, almost a full year since the earl formally renounced his allegiance to Stephen and declared for Matilda.”

“Aye, well, he had to settle his estates in Normandy before he could come back to England,” Simon said.

The rain began to fall harder.

“You have no idea what Lady Isabel wants?” Philip asked. He was on comfortable terms with Simon, having served in the lord of Evesham’s household since he was a child of eight.

“I have no idea,” Simon replied grumpily. “My sister has communicated with me very rarely since she insisted on immuring herself in that convent. I cannot imagine why she is so insistent that she must see me now.”

In the distance, Philip saw the spire of the abbey church appear over the trees. He pointed it out to his lord.

“We’re almost there,” he said. “You shall know soon enough.”

Isabel de Leon’s brother and his retinue rode up to the gatehouse of the convent just as the bells were ringing for vespers. The portress told them that they were
expected and that rooms in the guest house had been prepared. She summoned grooms to take their horses, and a lay sister to show them the way to their quarters.

Simon could see Isabel after vespers in the cloister, the portress said as they prepared to follow the lay sister across the now-muddy courtyard. In the meanwhile, a cold collation would be served to them in the guest house hall.

“Thank you, Sister,” Simon responded courteously. “Something to eat would be greatly appreciated.”

After they had entered the guest house, Philip accompanied Simon to his room in order to relieve him of his mail. Worcester was officially under the governance of Stephen, and it was wise for any person who might be suspected of favoring Earl Robert and the empress to tread carefully in this part of the world. Simon’s whole party had ridden from Evesham wearing mail shirts under their surcoats.

The room Simon had been given was scarcely luxurious, containing only a bed, one chair, and a small table with a plain pottery washbasin, a pitcher with water in it, and a solitary cup. Philip glanced out the single small window as he waited for Simon to drink some water.

The stone of the abbey buildings looked silvery in the steadily falling rain. He looked across the courtyard at the church and imagined the nuns in their places for vespers, hidden from public view behind a carved altar screen.

Philip knew very little about his lord’s sister
except that she had once been married to the Earl of Wiltshire and that after his death she had chosen to reside in a convent rather than to marry again. The lords of Evesham had always been patrons of the abbey of Worcester, which was why she had been sent to this particular institution.

In all these years, however, Isabel had never taken the vows that would have made her a nun. For the last thirteen years she had been content to live as a humble lay sister, working with her hands, doing menial tasks that Philip knew his lord disapproved of.

Simon put down the cup from which he had been drinking and said, “I am ready for you to undress me, Philip.”

They had brought no squires with them, so it was Philip’s place to perform a squire’s service for his lord.

The young knight went to Simon, unbuckled his belt, and lifted off his sword. Next Simon raised his arms so that the blue wool surcoat could be lifted over his head, revealing the mail shirt he wore beneath. Philip laid aside the surcoat and began to unfasten the shoulder buckles that held the mail hauberk in place. Once that was off and Simon was standing in just his linen shirt and leggings, he knelt to undo the spurs that were strapped to his lord’s boots.

There came a knock upon the door and Philip went to open it. A young girl stood there holding a pitcher of water and a towel. He thanked her courteously, took the items, and went to pour the water into the basin so that Simon could wash.

Once Simon was dressed in fresh clothes, Philip went to the room he was sharing with the other knights and one of them helped him take off his own mail. Then they all went down to supper in the small dining hall of the guest house, where they were the only guests in attendance.

After supper was over, the same young girl who had brought the water earlier arrived to escort Simon to his sister. Philip and the other knights stayed behind in the dining hall, finishing their wine and talking in carefully lowered voices.

None of them was completely comfortable being lodged in a convent.

Finally, after the wine was done, two of the knights announced that they were going to go to the stables to check on the horses. The rain had stopped and Philip, who wanted an excuse to get out into the cool evening air, decided to go along with them. He was at the door of the dining hall when he was intercepted by a young novice dressed in a shapeless brown wool dress, who told him that his lord wished him to come to the cloister.

The girl was wearing high wooden pattens to protect her feet from the mud, and Philip followed her across the yard and around to the cloister at the back of the church.

The Worcester Abbey cloister formed a perfect square of stone arches around an open courtyard. Sitting in the middle of the courtyard upon a stone bench were a man and a woman.

The evening sun slanted over the west archways of the cloister and fell on the grass of the courtyard, which still sparkled with drops from the rain that had fallen earlier. The air smelled fresh and clean. Philip crossed the courtyard and came to a halt in front of the two on the bench.

“You wished to see me, my lord?” he asked respectfully.

“Aye,” Simon returned. He turned to the woman beside him on the bench and said, “This is the knight I told you about, Isabel.”

For the first time Philip turned his eyes to look at Simon’s sister.

He saw a face that, while no longer young, was still heartbreakingly beautiful. Isabel’s veil concealed the color of her hair, but her perfectly arched eyebrows were a glossy black. Her eyes were dark dark blue. The merciless light from the setting sun exposed fine lines at the corners of those eyes, but nothing would ever detract from the perfect bone structure that lay beneath her delicate fair skin.

Her eyes were regarding him searchingly, and there was a definite look of strain in their dark blue depths. He met her gaze squarely and tried not to look as dazzled as he felt.

She turned back to her brother and said a little doubtfully, “He is very young, Simon.”

“He is a very competent young man, Isabel,” Simon replied.

Philip stood in front of them and waited.

After a minute she said, “I had hoped you could go yourself.”

“It is impossible.” Simon sounded grim. “I expect to hear from Earl Robert any day now. I cannot be away from Evesham.”

A faint frown dented the skin between her perfect eyebrows.

“Are you absolutely certain that you want to do this, Isabel?” Simon asked. “Frankly, I think Nigel Haslin is so desperate to replace Guy with a new earl that he is seeing in this boy only what he wishes to see. There is small likelihood that Hugh is still alive after all these years.”

“Nigel would not have sent to tell me about this boy if he was not certain that he is my son,” Isabel said. Her voice was quiet, but Philip could hear the emotion that she was trying to keep in check. “He is a kind man, Nigel Haslin. He would not seek to torment me with a pretender.”

“Isabel…” Simon said wearily.

“I have never believed that Hugh was dead,” Isabel said. “They never found his body.”

“If he was alive, he would have tried to reach you,” Simon said.

“Perhaps not.” Isabel’s voice was full of pain. “I was not a good mother to him, Simon. It is quite possible that he did not trust me to take care of him.” She looked down at the tips of the brown leather shoes that peered out from beneath her
brown wool skirt. “I did not take very good care of him when he was a child.”

“You did the best that you could,” Simon said gruffly.

She shook her head.

Simon sighed. “I suppose you will not rest easy until we have sent someone to identify this boy.”

She swallowed. Philip had to restrain himself from reaching out a hand to comfort her. “No,” she said. “I won’t.”

“Very well,” Simon said resignedly. He looked at Philip. “The situation is thus. Thirteen years ago my sister’s husband, the Earl of Wiltshire, was killed in the chapel at Chippenham. That very same day, her son, the heir to the earldom, disappeared. We believe he was kidnapped by the man who killed the earl. Several days later, the body of the kidnapper was returned to Chippenham, the apparent victim of outlaws on the road, but nothing has ever been heard of Hugh.”

Philip had always known that there were strange circumstances surrounding the death of the previous Earl of Wiltshire, but he had never heard the full story before.

“Jesu,” he breathed. Then, remembering that he was in a convent, “I beg your pardon, my lady.”

Isabel said nothing.

Simon grunted. “The Lady Isabel has just received word from one of the Earl of Wiltshire’s vassals, a
man named Nigel Haslin, that he has discovered a boy whom he thinks may be my nephew, Hugh. Nigel has asked the Lady Isabel to send someone whom she trusts to see if he can identify him.”

“And is there such a man?” Philip asked.

“Aye,” Isabel said. “The priest who was chaplain at Chippenham during the years that Hugh was a child.” Unmistakable pain deepened the lines in her face. “He knows my son well. He will know if this boy is indeed Hugh.”

Philip said diffidently, “How old was your son when he was kidnapped, my lady?”

“Seven,” Isabel said.

Philip hesitated, glancing at Simon. Simon’s face was stoic, giving nothing away.

“Boys of seven can change beyond recognition in thirteen years,” Philip said gently. “It is entirely possible that it will be impossible to say for certain whether this boy is your son or no.”

Isabel shook her head sharply. “Bones don’t change,” she said, “and Hugh looked just like me.”

After a moment, during which he tried in vain to picture a male Isabel, Philip asked, “What do you wish me to do?”

“Father Anselm is presently serving in the cathedral at Winchester,” Isabel said. “I want you to escort him to Nigel Haslin’s home of Somerford Castle, where he can meet with Hugh. Father Anselm will know if this boy is truly my son.”

“But my lady…” Philip looked once again to his lord, and once again encountered that stoic, unhelpful face. Simon clearly did not approve of this plan, but just as clearly he was going to go along with it.

Philip began carefully, “If this boy is indeed your son, as he claims to be…”

At that Simon finally spoke. “You don’t understand, Philip. The boy makes no such claim. It is Nigel who thinks he is the heir to Wiltshire.”

Now Philip was thoroughly bewildered. “You have the right of it, my lord. I don’t understand.”

“This Hugh was the foster son of the Sheriff of Lincoln,” Simon explained. His voice took on a noticeably sarcastic note. “Evidently the sheriff found him starving in the streets of Lincoln when he was a child and took him in. He told the sheriff that he did not remember who he was.”

Philip stared. “He did not remember?”

“That is what he said. That is what he still says.”

“It is perfectly possible that he is telling the truth,” Isabel said sadly. “There is no reason for him to want to remember, and many reasons for him to need to forget.”

“I find it hard to believe that one would forget that one was the Earl of Wiltshire and the Count of Linaux,” Simon said grimly. “I don’t want you to get your hopes set upon this boy, Isabel. It is most likely that he is some clever pretender playing on Nigel Haslin’s desire to rid himself of Lord Guy.”

Isabel bowed her head and said softly, “For fourteen years I have done penance for my wrongs to my son, and for fourteen years I have prayed that he would be returned to me. Perhaps God has finally answered my prayers.”

Simon made an impatient gesture. “All right, Isabel. We will send the priest to look at this boy. But I want you to promise me that if Father Anselm returns to you and says that he is not Hugh, you will accept the priest’s judgment.”

Isabel’s beautiful face was very pale. “Father Anselm wants Hugh to be alive as much as I do,” she said. “I will believe what he tells me.”

Philip traveled to Winchester by himself. Over his hauberk he wore a simple brown surcoat, and if he was stopped, the story he had prepared was that he was a knight in the service of Nigel Haslin. Winchester was a city that was firmly in the grasp of King Stephen; the Bishop of Winchester was in fact Stephen’s brother. It would not be conducive to Philip’s health for anyone to find out that he was a knight of the household of Simon of Evesham. All knew that Simon was going to declare for Earl Robert and the empress.

This was another reason that Simon had sent Philip to escort the priest and had not come himself. Philip’s face was unknown in Winchester; Simon’s was not.