The Poisoned Serpent

14

The following day, Hugh paid a visit to Bernard Radvers in Lincoln Castle. Once again, he and Bernard sat side by side upon the chest. Outside the day was overcast, and little light came in the one high window. Bernard’s cell looked even bleaker than it had on Hugh’s previous visit.

Bernard himself was not looking well either. His blue eyes were glazed and he had a dry, hacking cough.

I have to get him out of here, Hugh thought.

“Are you ill?” he demanded of Ralf’s old friend.

Bernard shrugged indifferently. “I’m well enough, Hugh. It’s just this cursed cough.”

“I know someone who has a talent for curing coughs. I’ll get her to mix you up some of her special elixir.”

Bernard rested his head against the cold stone wall. “To say true, Hugh, some promising news about this murder will do me more good than any elixir. Have you found out anything that may lead us to the real killer?”

“I have a few clues, nothing definite,” Hugh said.

“I see.” Bernard did not try to hide his disappointment.

Hugh stretched his legs in front of him and contemplated his spurred boots with bemused attention. “Bernard, have you ever noticed anything that might make you suspect that Gervase is stealing money from the shire’s taxes?”

Bernard stared at Hugh’s profile in astonishment. “What are you talking about?”

Hugh glanced at him. “Edgar Harding of Deerhurst confronted me yesterday and accused Gervase of not reporting to the Exchequer all the money he was earning from the market stall rentals in the Bail.”

Bernard scowled. “I don’t believe it. Gervase may be a bit hasty in his judgments, and he lacks Ralf’s sense of mercy, but I would swear that he is honest.”

“He owns a very expensive town house, which is staffed by an impressive array of servants,” Hugh commented in a voice that was carefully neutral.

Bernard shook his head in dismissal of Hugh’s implied accusation. “Gervase is not a poor man. He owns a number of very profitable manors. He can well afford that town house.”

“The Canville manors are not any greater than Ralf’s were, and Ralf did not live like that,” Hugh countered.

They heard a rustling sound in the far corner of the cell as one of the resident rats scurried into its nest. Ignoring it, Bernard said, “Ralf’s tastes were simple, as were Adela’s. Gervase likes things a little grander.”

“Perhaps.” Hugh did not sound convinced.

At that moment, a particularly nasty coughing fit caused Bernard to double over. Hugh said with a frown, “Have you a fever?”

“I don’t know.” Bernard gave one more cough, then cleared his throat loudly and drew in a deep breath.

“In regard to this accusation of Edgar Harding’s,” he said. “Did you know that the Saxon hates Gervase and would probably do anything he could to discredit him?”

“Nay,” Hugh replied slowly. “I did not know that.”

“Well, it’s true. I would examine anything Harding says against the sheriff very carefully if I were you.”

“What does Harding have against Gervase? I know he hated de Beauté because he won their land dispute, but surely that doesn’t have anything to do with the sheriff.”

Bernard gave a single cough before replying, “He dislikes Gervase because last year William of Roumare’s steward complained that he had caught one of Edgar’s men poaching on Roumare land, and Gervase had the man arrested and hung. Harding was convinced that the man had been treated so harshly because he was a Saxon. He has borne a grudge against Gervase ever since.”

Someone walked by the high barred window that was the only outlet to fresh air in the cell. The window was at the level of the man’s feet, and the sound of spurs jingling sounded like bells of freedom ringing through the dark, dank room.

Hugh lifted his eyebrows. “Is there anyone Edgar Harding does not have a grudge against?”

Bernard was looking wistfully at the window. “Not that I know of. He is a most contentious man.”

“Contentious enough to kill in order to obtain revenge?”

Bernard’s eyes jerked away from the window and back to Hugh. “Kill? Kill who? De Beauté?”

Hugh said soberly, “He knew that the earl was stabbed in the heart, Bernard. I did not think that was common knowledge.”

“Everyone knows it was a knife.”

“Aye, but do they know the precise location of the stab wound? Or that it was but a single blow? John Melan didn’t know those things when he came to fetch me. I discovered those facts from Gervase.”

Bernard stared at Hugh, his brows knit.

“Who else knew the details about the knife wound?” Hugh asked.

“Those who saw the body before it was covered,” Bernard replied. “Myself, Richard Canville’s squire, and Gervase himself.”

“Who washed it and laid it out for burial?”

“One of the lay brothers at the Minster.”

“I had better have a talk with him,” Hugh said. “What about de Beauté’s daughter?”

“I shouldn’t think they would have let her see her father until he was decently laid out, but I can’t say for sure.”

The rats in the corner began to make scratching noises on the hard dirt floor.

Hugh said, “Well, Edgar Harding certainly knew about the wound. I think I had better find out just where the Saxon was on the night that Gilbert de Beauté was murdered.”

“It won’t hurt to do that,” Bernard agreed soberly.

A little silence fell as each man pursued his own thoughts. It was Hugh who spoke first. “Just who is this boy who has become Richard’s squire?”

Bernard roused himself from whatever it was he had been contemplating. “There is no mystery about Alan Stanham. His father holds a property outside Lincoln in knight’s fee from the bishop. Richard met the boy on some occasion or other and was impressed by him. He invited Alan to be his squire, and Alan’s father was delighted to accept. The boy is a younger son in a large family. Richard’s patronage will be very useful to him.”

“Alan’s father doesn’t sound like an overly careful parent,” Hugh said.

Bernard made a noise indicating exasperation. “I know this is hard for you to believe, Hugh, but most people think that Richard Canville is the perfect knightly model for a young boy to emulate.”

Hugh’s face was completely expressionless.

“At any rate,” Bernard said firmly, “there is nothing at all suspicious about Alan Stanham. He is a very nice lad.”

“He is a very nice lad who conveniently discovered you leaning over de Beauté’s body,” Hugh pointed out. “He is also one of the few people who know about the single stab wound to the heart. And he thinks Richard walks on water. I have no doubt that we can assume that anything Alan knows, Richard knows also.”

Bernard said patiently, “If Richard did not learn the details from Alan, he was certain to learn them from Gervase. Gervase trusts his son implicitly. And he has reason to do so.”

Hugh’s nostrils pinched together.

“I have never understood your dislike of Richard,” Bernard said.

Hugh made a dismissive gesture.

Bernard changed the subject. “What about your theory that William of Roumare is involved in de Beauté’s death? Have you discovered anything that would bear that out?”

Hugh said, “I have not been to see you because I rode to Linsay to talk to John Rye, the only member of the castle guard I wasn’t able to interview here in Lincoln.” He proceeded to inform Bernard of everything he had learned at Linsay.

“So we know that Rye left Lincoln early for reasons other than his wife’s illness,” he concluded, “and we know that those reasons had something to do with William of Roumare. As I see it, there are two possibilities for this behavior. One possibility is that Rye murdered de Beauté at Roumare’s behest, and then went to see Roumare in order to collect his payment.”

Hugh steepled his fingers on his knee and regarded them with frowning intensity. “The other possiblity is that Rye is not the killer himself, but knows who the killer is and went to Roumare to try to extort money from him in exchange for keeping quiet.”

“The first possibility makes better sense,” Bernard said. He, too, was looking at Hugh’s steepled fingers.

“Perhaps. But if it is true that Rye himself is the killer, then why did he offer to sell me information?”

“Such information is probably false. He is trying to make even more money out of de Beauté’s death than he already has.”

“That could be so,” Hugh agreed. “But it may also be true that Rye actually does have some information about the murder, which he tried and failed to sell to Roumare, and now he is in the market for another buyer.”

Bernard said very slowly, “That is so.”

Hugh tapped his two forefingers together.

Bernard said, “How much money does he want?”

“We didn’t get that far.”

Bernard reached out and closed his hand around Hugh’s hard forearm. “I’m desperate enough to be willing to pay a bribe if I have to. Can you find out? If we don’t get some concrete evidence soon, I don’t have a chance.”

“Of course you have a chance,” Hugh said emphatically. “When you think about it, Bernard, you have absolutely no motive for killing Gilbert de Beauté.”

Bernard began to cough. “My motive is supposedly you,” he finally got out.

“That justification is tenuous, to say the least. Anyone with a functioning mind must know that my chance to become Earl of Lincoln depended upon my marriage being accomplished during de Beauté’s lifetime. With Elizabeth still unwed, her guardianship passes to the king and everything is changed. I lose instead of win.”

“Well, apparently the sheriff does not credit me with a functioning mind,” Bernard said sarcastically.

“You are nothing more than a scapegoat,” Hugh said. “The sheriff has no other suspect. Gervase doesn’t really want to accuse you, Bernard. If we can find him a more likely candidate, he will be grateful.”

“Well then, find him another candidate!” Bernard commanded.

Hugh got to his feet. “I intend to do just that. I will look into the whereabouts of Edgar Harding on the night of the murder, and I will find out what information John Rye may be concealing.”

Bernard remained sitting on the bench. “You don’t have much time, Hugh,” he said. “Lord Richard Basset is already overdue.”

“Have you forgot Saint Agatha’s Fair? It is due to start the day after tomorrow and the townsfolk are busy getting ready for it. Even if the chief justiciar arrives, the trial won’t start until after it is over.”

“I hadn’t thought the fair would be held this year,” Bernard said with surprise.

“A delegation of the town’s freemen asked Gervase to let it go forward. People come into Lincoln from the surrounding countryside for the fair, and it is business the local merchants count upon. Gervase decided a week ago to allow the event to proceed. So we have a bit of a respite, Bernard.”

Bernard was seized by another coughing fit.

Hugh stood looking down at his father’s old friend, a frown upon his face. “I will be back later today with some medicine for that cough,” he promised.

Bernard nodded and continued to cough.

Hugh hesitated, then patted him upon the shoulder before he strode to the door and knocked peremptorily upon the heavy wood. A guard appeared to let him out, and Hugh exited without a backward look.

He ran lightly up the stairs and out to the gray light of the courtyard. It had begun to rain. He passed through the keep gate and went down the stairs to the Inner bail, where he collected Rufus. He swung into the saddle and headed the stallion in the direction of the town.

Cristen would know what to do about Bernard’s cough, he thought. It was clearly his duty to see her as soon as he possibly could.

When Hugh walked into the hall of Ralf’s town house, the first person he saw was his uncle, sitting in Ralf’s old chair.

“My lord,” he said in a level voice.

Next he looked at Cristen, seated in the chair that had always been Adela’s. The perfect serenity of her face told him that she was under siege.

“I have just told Lady Cristen that she is to return to Somerford immediately,” Guy informed him. “If you have any sense at all, Hugh, you will tell her the same thing. With her father away in Cornwall, she has no reason to be here. Her reputation will be ruined if she remains.”

“I am the one who sent for Lady Cristen,” Hugh replied promptly. “Bernard Radvers is very ill and I wanted her to look after him.”

Cristen regarded him with grave eyes and knew immediately that he was telling the truth about Bernard.

“I was just getting ready to go and visit poor Bernard when Lord Guy arrived,” she said.

Hugh walked over to the fireplace, then turned to face the two of them. “His cough has become much worse,” he said with a worried frown.

“There are doctors aplenty in Lincoln!” Guy roared. “Lady Cristen is the daughter of one of my vassals. She is not a traveling herb woman.”

“She is a very gifted healer,” Hugh said coldly.

Guy narrowed his eyes. “This is not something I intend to discuss. I have made my wishes very plain. Lady Cristen is to go home. Immediately.”

Hugh looked back at his uncle, his face very still. “The de Beauté marriage is finished,” he said. “It was finished even before Lord Gilbert died. I will never marry that girl.”

Guy surged to his feet. “You will marry whom I tell you to marry!”

“Do you really believe that?” Hugh asked. He actually sounded amused.

Guy drew himself up to his full height, which was the same as Hugh’s. “Tread carefully, Hugh. I am the one with the upper hand here. I am the one who holds the earldom from the king.”

“I believe we have had this conversation before, Uncle,” Hugh said wearily. “You may have the earldom from the king, but I have other options.”

“If you think that Gloucester will sanction a marriage with Cristen Haslin, you are wrong,” Guy said brutally. “He, too, will want an alliance that brings him greater political advantage. It is insane for you to think of marrying the daughter of one of your own vassals.”

Cristen said, “I did not come here to marry Hugh, my lord. I came to see if I could help Bernard Radvers. And I believe I have delayed long enough.”

Guy swung around to regard her with astonishment. “The only place you are going, my lady, is home!”

Cristen looked genuinely regretful. “I am sorry to disobey you, my lord, but I took a sacred oath never to deny my healing to anyone who asks for it.”

“Your father took a sacred oath to me,” Guy roared.

“I took my oath to God,” Cristen replied. “I believe He has the precedence.”

Guy’s face slowly turned purple. He took a step toward Cristen and raised his hand.

He was stopped by steel-hard fingers grasping him by the shoulder.

“Don’t,” Hugh said. He had moved from the fireplace with incredible swiftness.

Guy turned, looked into his nephew’s face, and froze.

Cristen looked at Hugh as well.

Don’t. She sent him the command silently. Let me handle this. Please.

Hugh met her eyes. After a moment, with palpable reluctance, he let his hand drop away from his uncle’s shoulder.

Guy’s hurried breathing was audible in the suddenly silent room.

Cristen said meekly, “I am very sorry to disobey you, Lord Guy, but I must try to heal Bernard Radvers. I can assure you, however, that once he is on his way to recovery, I shall go home.”

“If you disobey me in this, girl, then I wash my hands of you,” Guy said. “You will never win my permission to marry anyone, and when your father dies, Somerford will be mine to give where I wish.”

Cristen’s brown gaze never wavered. “I am sorry you feel that way, my lord.”

Guy’s mouth set into a grim line, and without looking again at Hugh, he stormed out of the house.

Neither Cristen nor Hugh moved until they heard the door slam behind Guy. Then Hugh went over to Cristen’s chair and lifted her out of it into his arms.

“I did take that oath to God,” she said into his shoulder. “I swore it last night.”

He nodded gravely.

The front door opened again and someone came in. Hugh and Cristen barely had time to separate before Thomas entered the room.

“My lady! I just saw Lord Guy riding away from here…” Thomas’s voice trailed away as his eyes came to rest on Hugh.

“My lord! I didn’t know you were here.” His voice was distinctly apprehensive.

Hugh, annoyed at being interrupted, frowned and said shortly, “Well, as you can see, I am.”

Thomas regarded Hugh as a deer might watch a circling wolf, and did not reply.

The irritation faded from Hugh’s face. “Don’t worry, Thomas,” he said sympathetically, “I don’t hold you responsible. I just watched Lady Cristen vanquish Lord Guy. I’m quite sure you never stood a chance against her.”

“She threatened to go alone if I wouldn’t escort her, my lord,” Thomas said indignantly.

Hugh glanced at Cristen and grinned.

“It wasn’t funny, my lord,” Thomas said sulkily. “You know Lady Cristen. She doesn’t make idle threats.”

“If you had let her go alone I would have murdered you with my bare hands.”

Thomas looked gloomy. “That’s what I thought.”

Cristen stood up. “You two obviously don’t need me in order to continue this fascinating conversation. I am going into the kitchen to prepare a cough mixture for Bernard. When I am finished, Hugh, you can escort me to the castle. I want to see him for myself.”

“Your wish is my command,” Hugh said. Amusement still lingered around his mouth.

She shot him a look, then went through the door that led to the back of the house. They heard her calling for Mabel.

Thomas said to Hugh, “Jesu, my lord, but she had me terrified. I found her a convent to stay in on the road, but I didn’t know what we were going to do once we got to Lincoln. When we found out that you were out of town and that the bishop’s guest house was filled, I nearly cried.”

“I understand that Richard Canville came to your rescue,” Hugh said blandly.

“Well, it was more Lady Elizabeth,” Thomas said. “I was that glad when she said she would take charge of Lady Cristen. God’s blood, we had discovered that it was Lord Guy who was staying at the bishop’s guest house!”

“Your own blood must have run cold when you heard that piece of news.”

“It certainly did, my lord.”

Hugh regarded Thomas with commanding gray eyes. “Lady Cristen insisted upon coming to Lincoln because I asked her to look after Bernard Radvers, who is ill.”

Thomas looked back at Hugh. “Oh,” he said after a moment. “I see.”

“Good,” said Hugh. He leaned his shoulders against the wall and crossed his arms. “Tell me, who is in charge of Somerford at the moment?”

“Lionel, my lord. Sir Nigel actually left Lady Cristen in charge, but she insisted on coming to Lincoln.”

They both knew that if there was a siege of the castle, Cristen would be a far better commander than Lionel.

“I don’t think you have to worry about Somerford at the moment,” Hugh said. “It will be safe while Sir Nigel is in Cornwall.”

“I devoutly hope so, my lord.”

“How many troops did Guy call up?” Hugh asked.

Thomas was still telling him about the levy that Nigel was leading when Cristen came back into the room carrying a bottle.

“I’m ready to visit Bernard,” she announced cheerfully.

“Excellent,” Hugh said. “I brought your horse with me from the castle, so you can ride. You should be able to keep him in the stable out back. I’ll get in a supply of hay.”

“I can do that, my lord,” Thomas said.

“Very well.”

After Hugh and Cristen had left, Thomas stood staring into the fire for a long time.

Cristen had never said a word to him about Bernard Radvers being ill.