The Poisoned Serpent (4 page)

John was happy to comply. “As you know, my lord, de Beauté was only recently appointed earl, and he had come to Lincoln Castle to meet with the sheriff. However, instead of approving the sheriff’s very competent defense dispositions for the shire—which all expected him to do—the earl ordered changes.” His eyes flashed with anger. “If I may say so, my lord, the changes were very ill-advised. We all knew it. De Beauté may be good at bringing lawsuits, but he knows nothing about military matters.”

Hugh nodded, his face expressionless.

“It made us all angry—all of us in the castle guard, that is. Most of us had served under your foster father before we served Gervase Canville, and we know military matters. The new earl’s ideas were foolish in the extreme.”

Hugh was silent, waiting for the story to continue.

The knight’s lips tightened. “The night before Lord Gilbert was murdered, a group of us who were off duty got together at the Nettle.” The Nettle was the local inn most favored by the castle knights.

John gave Hugh a somewhat defiant look. “We had a little too much to drink.”

Hugh’s face didn’t change.

John met his eyes. “One or two of the other patrons heard Bernard say that Lord Gilbert would do us a favor by dying so that his prospective son-in-law—
you
—could become the earl.”

Hugh’s prolonged silence made John shift uncomfortably on his chair.

“It was just the drink talking, my lord!” he said. “Anyone who knows Bernard knows that!”

Hugh finally spoke. “But the very next night, Bernard was found, knife in hand, next to the murdered body of Gilbert de Beauté.” His voice was calm and even.

“Aye, my lord,” John said miserably.

“What does Bernard say happened?”

“He says that he received a message from the sheriff to meet him in the Minster, my lord. The message was delivered by one of the castle grooms.”

“Does the groom corroborate this?”

“The groom can corroborate nothing, my lord. When the sheriff looked for him to verify Bernard’s story, he was found stabbed to death.”

An intimidating silence fell.

The knight shifted again on his seat and continued, “The sheriff had no option but to arrest Bernard, my lord. And I’m very much afraid that, unless the true culprit is found, he will hang.”

Hugh asked in a neutral tone, “And what is it that you wish me to do?”

John pulled his stocky body into an erect position, lifted his chin, and announced, “I want you to come back to Lincoln with me, my lord, and save Bernard.”

Hugh smiled, but it was a smile totally without humor. “That is a rather large commission.”

“Your father would want you to try,” John said. “Ralf had a great value for Bernard.”

“Aye,” Hugh returned. “I know he did.”

“You should know that I have come here on my own,” the knight said. “Bernard is not asking help of you; I am.”

After a long moment, Hugh gave a long sigh of resignation and leaned back in his chair.

“I am flattered by your trust, John,” he said mildly. “I cannot promise results, but I will go to Lincoln with you and try my best to discover who really killed Gilbert de Beauté.”

John Melan grinned. “I knew Bernard could count on you, Hugh!” he said. “I knew it.”

Hugh and Nigel and Cristen sat together in the solar after supper. Cristen’s faithful dogs had curled up comfortably on the floor by her feet, and she absently stroked their heads.

Hugh had said nothing about John Melan’s request. Now that the three of them were alone, he told them about the arrest of Bernard.

Nigel, who knew Bernard Radvers, was outraged. “Of course it is a mistake,” he said. “Bernard could have no possible reason to kill the Earl of Lincoln!”

So then Hugh had to tell Cristen’s father about the marriage that Guy had arranged between him and Lady Elizabeth de Beauté.

“It is a brilliant match,” Nigel said slowly when Hugh had finished speaking. “It will give the de Leons complete control of two shires and partial control of several more. In one stroke, Guy will have accomplished what Ranulf of Chester and William of Roumare have been trying to do for years.”

He peered at Hugh intently, trying to read what his intentions might be in regard to this magnificent marriage. Deliberately, he did not look at his daughter.

“Unfortunately,” Hugh said, “the match has apparently given Bernard a reason to wish de Beauté dead. It is well known in Lincoln that Bernard was a close friend of my foster father’s. In fact, before we marched north to the Battle of the Standard, Ralf made Bernard promise that he would look after me if aught should happen to him.”

Hugh’s face was bleak as he said these words. As Nigel and Cristen knew, Ralf Corbaille had been killed at the Battle of the Standard. It was in the aftermath of that very battle that Nigel had first laid eyes upon Hugh and marked his resemblance to the lost heir of the de Leons.

Cristen said thoughtfully, “It looks as if someone murdered Lord Gilbert and arranged to throw the blame on Bernard.”

“That is certainly what it looks like,” Hugh agreed.

“You had better go to Lincoln and look into the matter,” she said briskly. “This knight would not have traveled so long a way to fetch you if things did not look bad for Bernard.”

Hugh met her eyes, his face very somber.

She looked back, her brown eyes clear and calm. “You have to go, Hugh,” she said. “You know that.”

Nigel looked from his daughter to Hugh, then back again to his daughter. They were looking at each other as if he were not there.

“Perhaps you can take the opportunity to pay a visit to Keal,” Cristen suggested. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea to check on your chief manor while you are in Lincolnshire. You can make certain that everything is as it should be.”

At her words, a faint smile touched Hugh’s mouth. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea,” he agreed.

As too often happened, Nigel had the uneasy feeling that the two young people were communicating in a way that he couldn’t comprehend.

He scowled and said crossly, “It’s time for bed.”

Two pairs of eyes, gray and brown, regarded him with tolerant affection.

“Aye, Father,” Cristen said. “It is important for you to get your rest. You have still not regained all of your strength.”

Nigel folded his arms and did not move. “I will go to bed when the two of you do.”

Hugh got promptly to his feet. “I am going, sir. I need my rest also if I am going to ride for Lincolnshire in the morning.”

Cristen came and slipped a hand under her father’s elbow. “Come along, Father. I will find William and send him to help you undress.”

Nigel didn’t know why he felt so grumpy. “Oh, all right,” he said, and stumped off to his bedroom.

Cristen and Hugh looked at each other.

Later
, they told each other silently.

The dogs, who had got up when Cristen did, came to press against her skirts. She turned to bring them into the great hall, so that Brian could take them for their last outing before sleep.

T
he cold weather lifted the morning that Hugh left Somerford with John Melan. Instad of jarring their legs on iron-hard roads, the horses had to wade through a sea of mud for the several days it took for them to accomplish the journey to Lincoln.

Ever since the days when the Roman legions had ruled Britain, a city had been set on the limestone ridge where the River Witham bent sharply east toward the sea. The old Roman fortifications still formed the walls of twelfth-century Lincoln, although the Roman streets, sewers, and buildings had mostly disappeared.

As Hugh rode along the Fosse Way, his mind turned back to the time he had first come to Lincoln. He had been eight years old and running away from the men who had kidnapped him from his home. Until a few months ago, his first memory of his life had been of Ralf dragging him out of his hiding place on a bitter January night and taking him home to Adela.

On this last day of January when Hugh and John Melan rode their mud-splattered horses toward Lin
coln, the weather was humid and warm, not frigid as it had been on that night thirteen years before when Ralf had rescued Hugh. And Hugh was twenty-one now, not eight. But as he stared at the towering heights of Lincoln Castle, perched so intimidatingly on its limestone ridge, he felt once again all the desolation of an abandoned child.

He still missed them. He would always miss them: Ralf and Adela, the parents of his heart.

He shut his eyes, and thought of Cristen, and felt better.

He heard John say, “We had best go to see Sir Gervase first. I didn’t tell him where I was going when I asked for leave. I just said I thought I knew someone who could help Bernard.”

For the first time, Hugh realized that he didn’t want to see Gervase Canville. He had nothing against the man, but he didn’t want to see anyone else in Ralf’s place. He had not set foot in Lincoln since Ralf was killed.

He drew a deep breath and said, “Aye. It would be best to see Sir Gervase first.”

Lincoln was a large city, with a population of more than five thousand people. Most of the houses the two men passed as they rode up the main street belonged to the city burgesses. At one time the majority of the houses in Lincoln had been made of wood, but a fire in 1122 had destroyed a great part of the city, and much of the rebuilding had been done in stone.

A group of boys playing in the street with a leather ball stuffed with straw caught Hugh’s eye. They brought back a memory of the time when he had been part of precisely such a noisy, shouting pack of youngsters. Ralf would collect him on his way home from the castle to supper…

It was late afternoon and already beginning to grow dark. Hugh was sweaty and itchy and dirty and hungry, and his stallion, Rufus, was the same.

He felt a stab of longing so sharp that it was almost physically painful. If only he could go home! Ralf would see that Rufus was cared for, and Adela would fill the big tub for him, and…

He compressed his lips in a hard, straight line.

He had not thought it would be so hard to see Lincoln again.

Lincoln Castle had been built at the order of William the Conqueror himself. The castle was guarded most closely by a shell keep, or inner wall, constructed on top of the steep hill, or motte, upon which the castle keep was perched. Steep stairs led from the keep down to the inner bailey, a large courtyard of about six acres encircled by a second stone wall. In Lincoln this inner bailey was called the Inner bail.

The Inner bail was the heart of Lincoln’s garrison. The knights who served on the castle guard lived there, housed in wooden huts. Also inside its walls were a stockade and stables for the knights’ horses. All of their food, drink, and weapons were stored in this area as well.

Surrounding this military compound was the outer bailey, an immense space partly enclosed by a section of the old Roman city walls. In Lincoln this outer bailey was called simply the Bail and within its enclosure lay the Minster and the bishop’s house.

Dusk was gathering when Hugh and John rode through the old Roman gate into the Bail. Hugh started with surprise at the line of merchant’s stalls set up along the east wall.

“This is something new,” he remarked to John.
There was a faint line between his brows. “Since when have merchants been allowed in here?”

“Since about six months ago,” John replied. “The sheriff had the idea to rent some parts of the Bail to local merchants. The rent they pay has been a useful addition to our defense funds.”

“I see,” Hugh said. But the frown did not lift from his face.

The two rode on, and reached the gate to the Inner bail, where Hugh was recognized by one of the guards on duty.

“Hugh!” the guard boomed in a voice that had to be audible clear to the castle. “By God, it’s Hugh Corbaille himself! Welcome back to Lincoln! It’s about time you paid us a visit.”

“Thank you, Odo,” Hugh replied pleasantly.

Odo’s greeting acted as a catalyst for the rest of the knights in the courtyard to spin around and come running. Within a minute, Hugh found himself surrounded by a crowd of men who were all talking to him at once. He laughed and held up a hand as if to defend himself.

John Melan barked, “Be quiet and give
Lord
Hugh a chance to hear himself think.”

Thus abruptly reminded of the change in Hugh’s estate, from the boy they had all seen grow up to heir to an earldom, the men did indeed fall silent. A few of them mumbled apologies.

“I am very glad to see you all again,” Hugh said, and smiled.

At that, the sudden tension in the crowd disappeared. The men grinned back at him.

“Have you come to see Bernard, my lord?” a voice from the back of the group called. “You must know he is falsely accused!”

Hugh’s face became grave. “I have come to see Bernard,” he agreed.

Before the men could ask more questions, another voice commanded attention.

“I think it would be a good idea for you all to stand back to let Lord Hugh get off his horse.”

The speaker began to stride through the crowd, and the men fell away before him, like the Red Sea parting for the Israelites.

Hugh sat on Rufus and watched the tall young man in the blue wool tunic, cross-gartered tan leggings, and soft leather boots approach. He stopped at Hugh’s side and looked up. “It is good to see you again, Hugh.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Or I must say
my lord?
”

Hugh looked down into eyes that were so blue, they shamed the heavens. “
Hugh
will do,” he replied matter-of-factly. “How are you, Richard?”

“I am very well,” Richard Canville replied. “Have you come about Bernard?”

“Aye.”

Richard looked around at the men surrounding them. “Well, give Rufus into the care of these louts, and I will take you to my father.”

None of the castle guards appeared to take offense at being called “louts” by Richard. In fact, a few of them actually grinned at him.

Hugh dismounted and handed Rufus’s reins to one of the men, telling him, “He’ll need a bath to get the mud off.”

“White horses is the worst,” the man said mournfully, looking at the filth that matted the hair of the stallion’s legs and belly.

“See to it that he is white again the next time Lord Hugh wants him,” Richard said. His voice was pleasant but unmistakably authoritative.

“Aye, Sir Richard,” the knight replied.

“The rest of you may return to your duties.”

“Aye, Sir Richard.”

The knights began to trickle back to their stations. John Melan accompanied them, leaving the two young men standing alone in the middle of the courtyard.

Richard was the taller man, and looked down on Hugh from his superior height. “My father is in his office,” he said. “I’ll take you there.”

“That won’t be necessary. I know the way,” Hugh returned.

Contrition shone in Richard’s blue eyes. “I didn’t mean that you needed a guide. I just meant that I would keep you company.”

There was the briefest of pauses. Then Hugh said, “Thank you.”

The two young men crossed the Inner bail side by side, neither of them aware of the girl who watched them from one of the tower windows.

Richard was half a head taller than Hugh, and even in the gathering dusk, his hair looked more gold than brown. The imposing width of his shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist and legs that were long and strong. His teeth flashed white in his strong, clean-cut face as he smiled down at the smaller, slimmer man who walked beside him.

From the height of her tower perch, all the girl could see of Hugh was his tired, dirty face, framed by his mail coif. Her eyes widened and she glanced once more at the splendid young man who was walking beside her prospective husband.

Then, before anyone could notice her in the window, she withdrew.

Lincoln Castle was a military stronghold. An apartment had been set aside in the upper tower for the use of the sheriff and his family, but most of the castle was, quite simply, a fortress. Hugh and Richard passed through the large empty armory hall, which was used for military exercises when the weather was too poor for outdoor practice, went up a flight of stairs, and arrived at the small room that once had been Ralf’s office.

Hugh braced himself.

Gervase Canville was talking to one of his knights when the young men entered.

“Look who I’ve brought you, Father,” Richard said cheerfully.

The sheriff’s eyes, a paler blue than his son’s, rested on Hugh’s face. They widened.

“Hugh!” he exclaimed. “Is it really you?”

“Aye.” A tense white line formed around Hugh’s mouth, and he swallowed. “How are you, sir?” He remained just inside the door as if reluctant to come farther into the room.

The sheriff lifted his arms and stepped forward as if to embrace his visitor, but noting Hugh’s hesitation, halted and let his arms drop back to his sides.

After a moment, he said, “I could be better. I suppose you have heard that Gilbert de Beauté was murdered?”

“That is why I am here,” Hugh returned.

“That will be all, Martin,” the sheriff said to the man with whom he had been talking. Then, as the knight went out, Gervase gestured Hugh and Richard to one of the benches along the wall.

The sheriff’s office was as Hugh remembered it, a place of work, not of comfort. The furnishings con
sisted of a few wooden benches, a table upon which papers were spread, and five wooden chests containing the charters and tax documents of the shire.

Hugh sat down on the hard oak bench, and Richard sat beside him.

Without making a single movement, Hugh seemed to draw away from the man next to him.

Gervase rested his hip against the table, looked at Hugh, and shook his head in sorrow. “It is hard to believe that Bernard would do such a thing, but to all appearances, he did.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” Hugh said.

Gervase sighed wearily. “These appearances were damning, I’m afraid.”

Hugh didn’t answer.

“Do you know the details of what happened that night?” Gervase asked him.

“I know what John Melan told me,” Hugh replied. “Is there aught that John doesn’t know?”

Gervase’s strongly marked brows lifted in sudden enlightenment. “
You
are the man whom John went to fetch!”

“Aye. He came to Wiltshire to seek me out.” Hugh shrugged. “I could not refuse to come. Ralf always thought very highly of Bernard.”

“As do I,” Gervase said crisply. “He is an excellent officer. I do not want to lose him.”

“Is it possible for me to see him?” Hugh asked.

“Of course.” The sheriff’s eyes moved from Hugh’s mud-stained boots and leggings to his tired, mud-smeared face. “Where are you staying? At Ralf’s town house?”

“No.”

Hugh took a deep breath. The word had come out
too loudly. “The town house has been closed up since Ralf’s death,” he went on more quietly. “I thought I might be able to stay at the castle.”

“I would be happy to offer you the sheriff’s apartment, but I’m afraid it is already occupied,” Gervase said regretfully. “Lady Elizabeth de Beauté has insisted upon remaining in Lincoln until we have convicted her father’s killer, and I had to take her off the bishop’s hands.”

An unidentifiable emotion flickered in Hugh’s light eyes. “Lady Elizabeth is still here?”

“Aye,” said Richard. A hint of admiration colored his voice. “She is here and she is determined to see that justice is done.”

“I understand that you are betrothed to the girl,” Gervase said.

His voice clipped, Hugh replied, “Your understanding is incorrect. My uncle made the arrangement before he consulted me.”

Richard’s head turned suddenly, and he looked at Hugh.

Gervase’s eyes narrowed. “Gilbert de Beauté told me that the match was settled.”

The white line was back around Hugh’s mouth. “It was not agreed to by me.”

There was a brief silence as father and son continued to look at Hugh.

Then Gervase said, “Well, we in Lincoln were certainly under the impression that the match was a settled thing. I know Bernard thought so, and that, of course, is what gives him a motive for wanting to do away with Lord Gilbert. All do know how close Bernard was to Ralf, and all do know that he would prosper if you became the Earl of Lincoln. It was to his advantage that Lord Gilbert should die.”

“If that was indeed his thinking, then surely Bernard would have been wiser to wait until after the wedding,” Hugh returned.

“Perhaps,” Gervase agreed. “But it would also have been more obvious if de Beauté died after the wedding. As it stands, no one would have suspected Bernard at all had he not been caught leaning over the body, murder weapon in hand.”

Hugh turned to Richard. “I understand Bernard was discovered by your squire.”

“That is correct,” Richard replied.

“I would like to speak to him.”

“Of course.”

Stone-faced, the two young men eyed each other. Then Hugh returned his gaze to Gervase. “And now, sir, if you don’t mind, I should like to speak to Bernard.”

“You look exhausted, lad,” the sheriff said gently. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to wait until tomorrow?”