No Dark Place

18

They sat facing each other across the table, a candle between them. On the table lay a bridle that someone had taken apart to clean.

“I saw you win the horsemanship contest at the tournament,” Alan said. “Even when you were a child you had a way with horses.”

Hugh’s face never changed.

“Do you have a scar on right knee?”

Suddenly Hugh felt dizzy. His stomach heaved and bile rose in the back of his throat. He swallowed it down and focused his eyes even more intently on the other man’s face. “Aye,” he managed to get out. “I do.”

“You got that when you were four years old. You climbed onto your father’s stallion when no one was looking, and he threw you. We were afraid you might have smashed your kneecap, but it was just a cut.”

Hugh had a sudden, desperate wish that Cristen were here beside him. He said, “I don’t remember.”

Alan looked at the stark young face in front of him and said gently, “Are you certain you want to hear this, Hugh?”

“I have to,” Hugh said. He took a deep, steadying breath. “I have to.”

The knight sighed. “All right. If it is the only thing that will get you away from this place…”

He folded his big, scarred hands on the table in front of him and began to talk.

“Your father was forty-two years of age when he returned from the Holy Land. His fame as a crusader was great. Did you know that?”

Hugh nodded tensely.

“His elder brother had died, leaving no sons, and so Roger inherited the earldom. Of course, one of the first things he had to do when he returned was to marry and get sons to come after him. He chose to marry Isabel Matard.”

Hugh dropped his eyes to the bridle pieces on the table. He picked up the brow band and rubbed it between his fingers. “Go on,” he said, his voice low.

“Remember this, Hugh,” Alan said. “Your mother was fifteen years old when first she came to Chippenham as Roger’s wife. She was sixteen when she bore you.”

Cristen is seventeen, Hugh thought. My mother was younger than she when I was born.

Alan said pensively, “Your mother…” He stared at his loosely clasped hands. “How can I make you see how beautiful your mother was?”

The light from the candle between them flickered on his down-looking face.

“All of us knights were in love with her, of course. How could we not be?”

He fell silent, as if he were conjuring up for himself the image of Isabel as she once had been.

Finally he lifted his eyes to look at Hugh. “Roger wasn’t in love with her, though. I think he had spent all of his passion on the Crusade. There was nothing left in him to give to a woman. He was a cold man, Hugh. A very cold man.”

Hugh’s fingers tightened convulsively on the brow band.

“Once you were born, and he had done his duty to the succession, it was as if your mother didn’t exist for him.” Alan hesitated. “I think he felt that she made him impure.”

“Impure?” Hugh said, clearly startled.

Alan went back to staring at his clasped hands, avoiding Hugh’s gaze. He nodded. “Your father had been planning to join the Templars before he was called home from the east. It is a pity he was unable to do so; he would have been a good fighting priest. Unfortunately, he was not a good husband.”

Hugh forced his fingers to loosen their death grip on the bridle piece. “I see,” he said.

Alan reached out and slightly moved the position of the candle so that it did not cast so much light on his face. He said, “At that time, Ivo Crespin was one of the knights of Roger’s household.”

“Ivo?” Hugh said. “I thought his name was Walter.”

“Ivo was Walter’s brother.”

Hugh stiffened, as if bracing himself for a blow.

“Ivo was a splendid young man.” For the first time since they had met, a faint smile touched Alan’s lips. “You loved him. He used to let you ride in front of him on his horse. He was the one who first taught you how to shoot a bow.”

Hugh forced himself to breathe evenly, trying to slow the hammer beats of his heart.

“Ivo was deeply in love with your mother,” Alan said, “and she loved him back.”

Once more Hugh’s fingers tightened on the bridle. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

Alan’s voice went relentlessly on. “We all knew it and we all held our tongues. Ivo was well-liked by everyone and no one blamed your mother for trying to find some happiness with him. She was very lonely, Hugh.”

Hugh tried to say something and failed.

Alan said sadly, “Then Roger found out.”

Hugh’s eyes clung desperately to Alan’s face.

“You must understand Roger’s position,” the knight said. “It is every married man’s greatest fear, that shame will come to him through his wife. In these great castles, with so few women and so many men…”

Alan made a very Gallic gesture with his hand.

“What happened?” Hugh croaked.

Alan clasped his hands once again and went back to looking at them. “We warned Ivo in time for him to get away, but he wouldn’t go. He wouldn’t leave your mother to face Roger’s wrath alone. He made a mistake and he stayed.”

Hugh’s knuckles were white, he was holding the bridle so tightly.

Alan said quietly, “Your father had him taken prisoner and forcibly evicted from Chippenham. But before Ivo was taken away, Roger castrated him.”

Hugh made a sound, which he quickly tried to suppress.

The lines in Alan’s face looked as if they had been carved by a knife. He said, “Once he was away from Chippenham, and left alone, Ivo killed himself.”

Hugh bowed his head and stared blindly at the scarred top of the table. “That is…a terrible story,” he managed to say at last.

“It was very ugly,” Alan agreed. “But now you see, Hugh, why Walter Crespin would want to kill Earl Roger.”

“Aye,” said Hugh, his voice unsteady.

“It took him over a year to exact his revenge. But when Roger was found dead and Walter was missing…well, we none of us had any doubt as to what had happened.”

Hugh nodded. His fingers moved on the bridle piece.

“I don’t know why he took you with him,” Alan said. “Doing that only punished your mother. I suppose we will never know what was in his mind.”

“Perhaps he wanted to punish her. Perhaps he blamed her for what happened to Ivo,” Hugh said.

“None of us blamed your mother,” Alan replied emphatically. “And as for punishment-your father had seen to that.”

“Hugh’s head jerked up. “What did he do to her?”

“He isolated her. He isolated her so that such a thing would never happen again. Worst of all, he kept you from her. He saw her as corrupted, you see, and he was afraid that she would corrupt you as well.”

An image flashed before Hugh’s mind: Ralf standing with his hand on Adela’s shoulder and she looking up at him with a smile on her face.

He shut his eyes.

What kind of blood do I have running in my veins?

With a tremendous effort of will, he forced himself to speak calmly. “So you are telling me that Guy had no part in the murder of his brother?”

Never again would Hugh refer to Roger as his father. His allegiance was to Ralf, who had been a good man.

“That is what I am telling you, Hugh. I know that rumor has implicated Guy, and I suppose it is only natural that people should look to place the blame on the man who benefited most from Roger’s death and your disappearance. But Guy is innocent of this deed. Roger was not killed for gain. He was killed for revenge.”

Hugh put his hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet. He felt bruised all over, as if he had taken a vicious pummeling from someone’s fists.

“I thank you for telling me this,” he said carefully. “It was something I needed to know.”

The knight rose also and came around the table to stand next to Hugh.

“You will leave here, then?”

Hugh’s voice was harsh. “There seems to be little reason for me to remain.”

Alan hesitated. Then he said, “I am sorry, Hugh. I’m sorry I had such an ugly tale to tell you.”

He reached out to put a comforting hand upon Hugh’s shoulder.

Hugh flinched away from him.

Alan’s hand dropped.

“Go away before Guy can strike at you,” the knight said.

“Guy has no reason to fear me,” Hugh said bleakly. “He has had the king confirm him in his earldom.”

Alan shook his head in disagreement. “You are Roger’s son, and as such you will always be a threat to him. Leave Chippenham, Hugh. Nigel Haslin did you no favor when he told you who you are.”

Hugh picked up the candle from the table, turned, and strode out of the room. Alan could not hear the sound of his feet in his soft shoes as he ascended the stairs, but he knew that Hugh was running.

Hugh did not return to the Great Hall. Instead he continued on up the stairs, to the floor on which his bedroom was located.

He prayed that Nigel would not be there, that he would have a chance to compose himself before he had to face Cristen’s father.

The room was empty. Even William must still be downstairs with the other squires.

Thank God, Hugh thought.

He shut the door behind him and pain, sudden and violent, knifed through the left side of his head.

He stood like a statue, hoping it was just a momentary thing. Before this, his headaches had always started slowly.

The pain was white-hot and seemed to emanate from a muscle in the lower left part of his skull. It stabbed upward, behind his left eye, all the way up into his forehead.

Hugh stood at the door, rigid and quivering. No, he thought. Not now. Please, not now.

The pain did not stop.

Hugh closed his left eye and stumbled across the room toward the trunk where William had stored their belongings. Cristen had given him a packet of herbs to use in case of such an emergency. His hand was shaking as he pulled the packet out from beneath his folded clothes. He poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher standing on the room’s single small table, and mixed the herbs into it.

He drank it all.

Then he went over to the bed and lay down, his arm flung over his eyes.

He was still lying like that when William came into the room a half an hour later.

“Hugh!” the squire said in surprise. “I did not know you were here. You should have sent for me.”

“It’s all right,” Hugh said. “I’m not feeling well, William. Will you get me a basin in case I am sick?”

“Of course,” the squire said soothingly. Clearly he thought that Hugh had drank too much. “I’ll be right back.”

He brought Hugh the basin and twenty minutes later, Hugh was sick in it. He desperately wanted to tell William to go away and leave him alone, but the boy was Nigel’s squire and Nigel would want him when he came in.

An hour later, the lord of Somerford pushed open the door of the bedroom.

“Hugh,” he said angrily when he saw the supine figure on the bed. “I was worried to death about you! Why didn’t you tell me you were going upstairs?”

Hugh didn’t answer. He was at the point where he simply couldn’t.

“I think he’s had too much to drink, Sir Nigel,” William said in a low voice. “He’s been sick to his stomach.”

Nigel went over to the bed and leaned over Hugh, sniffing. “There’s no smell of wine on his breath.”

He straightened up. “Jesu Christ, could he have been poisoned?”

“No…” Hugh’s voice was a mere thread of sound. “I just…have a headache. I’ve had them before. Cristen knows.”

“A headache?” Nigel stared down at the part of Hugh’s face that was not sheltered by his arm. “Is that the sickness that stopped you from riding in the mêlée?”

“Aye.”

“Jesu,” said Nigel. His voice softened. “What can I do to help you, lad? Is there something you can take?”

“Just…leave me in peace,” Hugh said. “It will go away in its own time.”

Nigel stood in silence, looking down at Hugh’s shielded face. “Do you want to get out of your clothes?” he asked.

“No.”

Nigel rubbed his own eyes. “All right.” He turned to his squire. “Help me with my own clothes, William, and then you may go to your rest.”

Once he was undressed, Nigel slipped carefully into the big bed he was sharing with Hugh.

Hugh never moved.

“I wish there was something I could do to help you, lad,” Nigel said.

No answer.

Nigel sighed, turned on his side, closed his eyes, and composed himself to sleep.

The headache lifted in the middle of the night. It had both come and gone more quickly than the previous ones.

Hugh lay on his back, his eyes staring sightlessly into the dark. He felt utterly wrung out.

Now that he was able to think again, the story he had heard from Alan ran over and over through his mind.

Castrated, he thought.

All of a healthy young man’s horror filled his soul at such a thought.

I wonder why it took Walter Crespin over a year to avenge his brother?

After half an hour of thinking, Hugh slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Nigel. The room was very cold, as the shutters still had not been drawn across the window. There was enough moonlight for Hugh to see his way across the floor. Nigel scarcely stirred as Hugh opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the hall.

A flambeau was burning in the hall outside, and Hugh reached up and lit the candle he had picked up in the bedroom on his way out. Then he began to make his way down the spiral staircase.

Chippenham was quiet. There was no guard stationed on the landing inside the front door, and Hugh made his way unimpeded into the castle forebuilding, where the chapel was located.

The heavy chapel door creaked as Hugh pushed it open. It was pitch-dark within, and Hugh held his candle in front of him as he walked up the center aisle.

He stood in the place where Geoffrey’s bier had been placed and looked at the altar.

It was freezing in the chapel, but under the tunic and fine white shirt he had worn to supper, Hugh was sweating.

The familiar feelings of terror and guilt began to sweep over him.

I have to do this, he thought.

He shut his eyes and there, ramrod stiff, straining to remember.

Inside his brain he heard the sound of a single high-pitched scream. Was it himself he was hearing?

His breath came hard and painful, hurting his chest. The hand that was not holding the candle was clenched into a fist at his side.

I was here when it happened, he thought. I know that I was here.

Had he been kidnapped because he had seen what had happened? Had Walter taken him because he was a witness to Walter’s murder of Roger?

It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.

If that was what had happened, then why did he feel so guilty?

“Oh God,” Hugh said out loud. “Why can’t I just remember?”

A few minutes later Hugh left the chapel, closing the heavy door behind him.

An unexpected breeze chilled his fingers. His candle went out. A fraction of a second later, he was on the floor and rolling.

The heavy thud made by a dagger burying itself deep in wood sounded clearly in the small passage.

Someone had thrown a knife at the place where Hugh had just been standing and it had pierced the chapel door.

Hugh crouched in the spot where he had finished his roll, perfectly immobile, trying to not even breathe. Someone had extinguished the flambeaux that illuminated the staircase, and the landing was pitch dark.

He knelt there in the blackness, listening.

The sound of someone breathing came out of the darkness to his right. The would-be assassin was on the chapel side of the landing, about ten feet away from him.

This meant that Hugh was closer to the stairs.

Cursing the fact that he had left his dagger in his bedroom, Hugh balanced his weight on his toes and prepared to make a dash for his life.

A step sounded on the wooden floor, then came the sound of the dagger being ripped out of the wood of the door.

By then, Hugh was at the staircase, racing down and down in the inky darkness, keeping his feet by instinct alone.

He didn’t stop at the Great Hall but continued on down to the floor below. At this hour, the guardroom would be filled with sleeping knights, making it far safer than the empty hall above.

Flambeaux lit the section of the staircase that connected the hall and the guardroom, and Hugh hurled himself downward toward safety.

He tumbled into the guardroom, which was in darkness, pressed himself against the cold stone wall, and waited.

The only sound he heard was the snoring of the knights.

He waited some more.

After about ten minutes, he moved cautiously to the wall, where he had seen a sword hanging earlier in the evening. He reached up, felt the cold steel blade, moved his hand to the hilt, and removed the sword from its hanger.

Once he was armed, he moved back to the door and stepped out onto the landing of the staircase.

No one was there.

He reached up and removed a flambeau from its iron holder. Holding the sword in his left hand and the flambeau in his right, he retraced his way up the stairs until he had reached the level of the Great Hall.

All was silent.

No one bothered him as he crossed the Great Hall and went on up the staircase that would lead him back to the room he was sharing with Nigel.

Once Hugh was safely back in bed, he crossed his arms behind his head and stared, wide-eyed, into the dark.

He had not thought that Guy would be stupid enough to attack him in Guy’s own castle. He remembered Nigel’s words on this subject, however. Guy sometimes acts first and thinks later.

Whether it was Guy or one of his henchmen, someone had clearly intended to remove Hugh from the world this night.

Hugh frowned, thought some more, and decided it would be wisest to say nothing of the incident outside the chapel to Nigel, who would only berate him for being fool enough to venture out on his own.

At last, as the first streaks of dawn were staining the sky, he turned on his side, closed his eyes, and prepared to try to get some sleep.

The following morning before breaking fast, Hugh sought out Alan.

“I have one more question for you,” he said to the knight, who was standing before the fire in the Great Hall waiting for the tables to be set up.

“What is that?” Alan asked warily, lowering his voice so he could not be heard by those around him.

“Who found Roger’s body in the chapel?”

Alan looked surprised. “Why, it was the priest,” he said. “Father Anselm. We reckoned that your father must have been laying there for at least an hour. That was what gave Walter the time to get away.”

“I see,” said Hugh. “Thank you.”

Lady Cecily, full of smiles and chatter, sat beside him at the breaking of fast. After the meal was finished, Hugh got rid of her by the simple expedient of saying that he was going to the garderobe. Instead, he went out into the courtyard.

He walked around to the back of the castle, to where the kitchen garden he had seen from his window was located. Next to the kitchen garden was a small walled-in pleasure garden.

He had known it would be there.

Slowly he walked to the gate of the garden and let himself in.

There were no flowers this time of year. The beds were full of bare stalks and the rosebushes were all wood. Hugh shut his eyes and the sweet scent of summer blossoms drifted to his nostrils.

He opened his eyes and stared at the wooden bench that was placed in the middle of the garden. A picture formed in his mind of a woman sitting there in the sun. A little boy came running down one of the paths, and she stood up, bending down to him, her arms outstretched. The child ran right into her arms.

Hugh smelled the scent of roses.

His lips formed the word Mother.

He stood there for a long time, staring sightlessly at the empty bench. Then he turned and walked out of the garden, back to the castle to look for Nigel.

He went first to the Great Hall, where he was accosted by Sir Richard Evril, who informed him in a very clipped tone that Lord Guy desired to speak to him. He followed Richard up the stairs, through a small, sparsely furnished anteroom, and into what was obviously the family solar, where Guy awaited him.

The earl was standing at the unshuttered window, looking out, when Hugh came into the room. For a long moment he didn’t move, making Hugh stand and regard his back. Finally he turned around. Slowly, he looked Hugh up and down.

“I thought we should have a little talk,” he said at last.

Hugh looked back at the man who had twice tried to kill him, the man who was responsible for the death of Geoffrey, and didn’t reply.

“What were you doing in the pleasure garden?” Guy said abruptly.

Hugh remained where he was by the door. “Trying to see if I remembered it,” he said.

“And did you?”

“Aye,” Hugh said. “I believe that I do.”

There were dark pouches of dissipation below Guy’s gray eyes, but the eyes themselves were clear and alert. “Hear me, Hugh Corbaille,” he said in a hard voice. “I have thrown in my lot with Stephen. I didn’t want to choose sides, but you forced me to it. Stephen may be weak in some things, but he will support me-with arms, if he has to. Wiltshire is too important for him to give it up.”

“That is so,” said Hugh. His expression was contained, giving nothing away.

Guy took a step away from the window into the room. He put his hands on the back of a carved chair and stared at Hugh over it. “I am telling you this because I know that your mother’s family is of the empress’s party.” Guy leaned a little forward. “I have summoned you here to give you this warning. Do not go to Mathilda to uphold your claim.”

The day outside the window was gloomy and overcast. The light in the solar was dim. The two men stood for a moment in silence, looking at each other across the bare wooden floor.

“And if I do?” Hugh asked.

“You will regret it,” Guy replied in a hard voice. “My own feudal army equals anything Robert of Gloucester can put in the field. And Stephen will aid me as well.” The gray eyes narrowed dangerously. “If it comes to a fight between us, you may well end up dead, Hugh. Think on that before you do something rash.”

“Is that a threat?” Hugh asked softly.

Guy’s full lips were set in a hard, implacable line. “You may take it that way if you wish.”

Hugh moved forward one step, bringing him fractionally closer to Guy. He stared into the eyes that were so like his own and demanded, “Did you have anything to do with the death of your brother?”

Guy held his gaze unflinchingly. “I did not. If you came here seeking vengeance, I am not the man you want.”

The two pairs of gray eyes held for a long, strained moment. Then Hugh slowly nodded.

There was the slightest relaxation of tension in Guy’s face. “I have been the Earl of Wiltshire for fourteen years,” he said. “You will not supplant me, even if you are my brother’s son.”

“If I am no threat to you, then why have you twice tried to have me killed?” Hugh inquired. His voice was merely curious.

Guy’s eyes flickered with surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“The knight who was killed at the tournament was riding my horse, and there are those who will swear he was downed by a blow to his back, not his front.”

“Nonsense,” Guy said impatiently.

“Someone fighting on his own side killed Geoffrey,” Hugh said. “And you had a number of men fighting on his side.”

“I don’t know where you have gotten this ridiculous notion, but I had nothing to do with the death of Nigel Haslin’s knight!” Angry color flared in Guy’s face. “Look to one of his own companions if you suspect he was betrayed. Perhaps one of his fellow knights held a grudge against him. But don’t try to lay his death at my door!”

Hugh looked thoughtfully at the flushed, angry face of his uncle. Guy glared back at him.

Hugh said, “Someone tried to kill me last night.”

Guy’s whole face hardened. “How?”

“I went to the chapel in the morning hours. I wanted to see if I would be able to remember anything. When I came out, someone was waiting for me with a knife. I was lucky to get away.”

“You didn’t see who it was?”

“The landing was pitch dark. He had extinguished the flambeaux.”

Guy cursed.

Hugh said neutrally, “As far as I know, you are the only person who would benefit from my death.”

“I am not an assassin,” Guy said furiously. “And as far as I know, you are making these stories up in order to discredit me.”

“Your reputation is rather vulnerable,” Hugh agreed.

“I had nothing to do with Roger’s death,” Guy said grimly.

“Someone killed him,” Hugh said.

Guy made an impatient gesture with his hands. “It was the knight. Why can’t you just accept that and let well enough alone?”

“Because I am like a dog who has buried a bone and can’t find where he put it,” Hugh said wearily. “I must keep digging and digging until I find what I want.”

“Well, you will not find me,” Guy said.

“Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?” Hugh replied pleasantly. He rubbed the back of his neck as if it ached. “I will be leaving Chippenham this afternoon, Uncle, so let me take this opportunity to say farewell to you.”

“Don’t hurry back,” Guy said sarcastically.

Hugh gave him a long, level look, then turned and left the room.