The Poisoned Serpent

17

From the lowest to the highest, the citizens of Lincoln were preoccupied with the upcoming Saint Agatha’s Fair, a town event that always took place the week before the start of Lent. With the specter of a murder trial hanging over the city, however, the townsfolk had worried that this year their fair would be canceled.

In fact, if the king’s chief justiciar had arrived in time to convene the trial before the fair was scheduled to open, Gervase would have called it off. But Lord Richard Basset appeared to be dragging his feet getting to Lincoln, and under such circumstances the sheriff decided that the fair could go forward.

Saint Agatha’s was a purely local gathering, in no way resembling the great international fairs of England and France. No Italian goldsmiths or Flemish clothmakers would make an appearance in Lincoln. The event was actually nothing more than a glorified market day, with games and competitions attached to it.

Ralf had always supported the fair wholeheartedly. Besides bringing good business for the local merchants, it had been a way to bring city and castle together. The knights of the castle guard threw quoits and bowls along with the merchants from the town, and the competition was good-humored and friendly. If a few lads drank too much and ended up spending the night in a castle cell, well, no lasting harm ever came of it.

Gervase had the same outlook on the fair as had his predecessor, which is why he allowed it to be held even though he knew he was outraging the de Beauté party, who remained ensconced in the castle.

“Why doesn’t that girl go home?” the sheriff complained as he sat over midday dinner with his son and Hugh on the day before the fair was scheduled to open. “She was in my office again today, with that long-faced companion of hers, protesting the fair and demanding that I get the justiciar here tomorrow.” He took a long drink of wine. “God’s blood, she can do nothing useful here in Lincoln. All she is is a thorn in my side.”

Hugh carefully broke his bread in half. “With the king in Cornwall,” he said, “there is no one to assume control over her. Unfortunately.”

Gervase glared at Hugh. “You are supposed to be betrothed to her. Can’t you get her to leave? It isn’t decent for a young girl to want to see a hanging.”

“I was never betrothed to Elizabeth de Beauté and the less I see of her the happier I will be,” Hugh returned calmly. He broke the bread again and glanced at Richard. “You appear to be good friends with her, Richard. Why don’t you try to convince her to go home?”

Richard said ruefully, “My friendship is not as influential as that, I’m afraid.”

“Well, all I can say is, she is a cursed nuisance,” Gervase said. “All of my knights fall over themselves every time she shows her face. I had to break up a fight today between two of them.”

Hugh raised his brows. “A fight, sir?”

“Aye. Apparently the girl smiled at one of them. Guyton thought he was the favored one and Walter thought it was him. They got into a fight about it.” Gervase finished the wine in his cup. “I wish the bothersome girl would keep her smiles to herself.”

“I don’t think you’re being quite fair, Father,” Richard said mildly. “Her father’s death has plunged Lady Elizabeth’s life into chaos, and she is frightened. This obsession of hers to see her father’s murderer brought to justice gives her a purpose to hold on to. She is only a young girl, after all. I think she deserves some pity.”

“Which you appear to be supplying, Richard,” Hugh remarked blandly. “From what I can see, you live in Lady Elizabeth’s pocket.”

“She is alone and I feel sorry for her,” Richard replied. “Is the idea of simple kindness so foreign to you, Hugh?” His blue eyes narrowed. “Or perhaps you are jealous?”

Hugh’s face lit with amusement. “You are very welcome to Lady Elizabeth, Richard. I have no claim on her, nor do I want one.”

Gervase said, in the manner of one settling an argument, “Well, considering all her objections about its propriety, at least she won’t attend the fair. That is something, I suppose.”

Silence fell as the men continued to eat.

Then, as he soaked up some gravy with his bread, Richard said to Hugh, “Are you entering Rufus in the horse race?”

Hugh shook his head.

Richard seemed disappointed. “That is too bad. I will be riding Durand, and I was hoping to have some competition.”

Hugh looked at Richard, his face expressionless, and did not reply.

“I don’t think you should ride Durand in the horse race, Richard,” Gervase said. “His quality is too far above the other horses that will be entered. It wouldn’t be a fair competition, and the townsfolk would resent it.”

Richard’s face darkened, and for a moment he was not handsome at all. Then the moment passed and his face assumed its usual good-humored expression.

“All right, Father,” he said. “If you don’t think it’s a good idea, I won’t enter the race.”

Gervase gave his son an approving smile.

“What other events will be held?” Hugh asked.

“The same as always,” Gervase replied. “Wrestling, archery-and the horse race will be held on the the first day. The camp-ball game will be played the second day.”

“Who are the camp-ball captains this year?” Hugh asked idly.

Gervase’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Didn’t you know? They are you and Richard.”

Hugh paused in the act of lifting his cup and stared at the sheriff in surprise. Then, slowly, he put his cup back on the table. “I don’t think that is a good idea, sir.”

“Nonsense,” Gervase said briskly. “When I suggested it to Master Faren he was delighted.”

Master Faren was Lincoln’s master goldsmith and head of the group of townsfolk in charge of the fair.

Hugh glanced at Richard’s serene face. “Was this your idea?” he demanded.

Richard smiled. “I thought it would be fun.”

Hugh picked up his wine cup and drained it.

Fun? he thought morosely. It will be mayhem.

Hugh spent the afternoon in the Bail, talking with the various merchants who rented stalls there.

Daniel Merton sold cauldrons, kettles, cups, sickles, billhooks, saws, and fasteners. He told Hugh he was paying three pence a day to rent his stall. Walter Newton, who sold fleeces and sheepskin for making parchment, had told Hugh he paid the same, as did the rest of the merchants who did business all year round.

“That is a lot of money,” Hugh said to Daniel as he stood inside the merchant’s stall, which was warmed by a charcoal brazier.

“Aye, it is. But those of us who rent here don’t have a shop in town. And the farmers who rent seasonally say that they get good business from the castle and the bishop’s residence, so it is worth it.”

“How many farmers rent during the good weather?” Hugh asked.

Daniel told him.

Hugh figured the sums in his mind, and came to the same conclusion as had Edgar Harding. The sheriff was collecting more in rent than he was expending in additional pay to the castle guard.

Daniel was not the only merchant burning charcoal, and the smell and the smoke from many braziers filled the air. Hugh’s eyes were tearing slightly from the fumes, and he blinked to clear them.

“How did the sheriff decide which merchants to rent to?” he asked idly as he lifted a plain wooden cup to examine it.

Daniel shrugged. “For myself, I heard that stalls in the Bail were becoming available and I applied.”

Hugh ran his finger over the cup to test its smoothness. “I only ask because Edgar Harding was complaining to me the other day that he had not been offered a stall.” He returned the cup to the table.

“No one was ‘offered’ a stall, Lord Hugh,” Daniel said. “We all just heard one way or another that the sheriff was renting market stalls and we applied to get one.”

“Who did you apply to?”

If Daniel was puzzled by Hugh’s interest, his thin, pointy face did not show it. “We applied to the same person who collects the rents, Theobold Elton. He is the man who supervises the market operation.”

Hugh frowned thoughtfully. “I do not believe I know him.”

“He came to Lincoln after you left, Lord Hugh. He’s one of the castle knights.”

“I see.”

Hugh reached for his purse. “I believe I will purchase this cup, Daniel. What are you asking for it?”

The man’s smile showed two missing front teeth. “Three pence,” he said.

Hugh, who knew full well that Daniel had more than tripled the price of the cup, nodded gravely and handed over the money.

“You have made your day’s rent,” he said.

The man cackled with delight. “Aye,” he returned, “that I have.” His eyes sparkled as he presented Hugh with his purchase.

As Hugh was crossing the Bail on his way back to the castle, a man came riding in through the main gate. John Rye’s hood was down, and his black hair and dark face were clearly distinguishable in the late afternoon sun.

Hugh immediately changed his direction in order to intercept the newcomer. Rye pulled up abruptly when he saw who was approaching him.

“Good afternoon, Rye,” Hugh said. “I’m surprised to see you in Lincoln. Don’t you ever spend any time at home?”

“I’m here for the fair,” Rye said. “I need to replace some of the livestock I lost at home.”

“Has your household returned?” Hugh asked. “Who is guarding your wife and children in your absence?”

“My wife and children are none of your business,” Rye growled, and abruptly jerked his horse’s head sideways to get around Hugh. The animal’s mouth opened in protest against the cruel jab and it jumped sideways.

There is someone who will bear watching, Hugh thought as he observed John Rye ride through the gate and pass into the Inner bail.

The first person Rye saw when he entered the Inner bail was William Rotier, standing by the stockade watching as a groom trotted a black gelding back and forth for him.

Rye dismounted and went over to the stockade. He stood in silence for a minute, watching the trotting horse along with Rotier.

“That’s enough, Will,” Rotier called to the groom.

“Off on the near front, eh?” Rye grunted.

“Aye.” The groom came up to them leading Rotier’s horse. “Have the blacksmith pull the shoe and then soak the foot in a bucket of cold water,” Rotier instructed.

“Aye, sir,” the groom answered, and began to lead the lame horse back toward the stables.

Rotier watched his horse being led off and said to Rye, “He just got shoes and I think the smith might have caught him with a nail.”

“That’s not so bad, then,” Rye said.

“I suppose not, but it annoys me. The fellow should take more time and he wouldn’t make mistakes like that.”

Rye grunted sympathetically.

Rotier finally removed his eyes from his horse and turned to the man beside him. “What are you doing in Lincoln, Rye?” he asked amiably. “Come for the fair?”

“Aye. I thought I’d bed down in the guardroom for the next few days.”

This was Rye’s usual habit when he came into Lincoln. It was a good way to save the price of an inn, and Gervase always extended the courtesy of the castle guardroom to all the men who did castle duty for their knight’s fee.

“I’m afraid that the de Beauté knights have taken over the guardroom,” Rotier returned regretfully.

“They’re still here?” Rye said in surprise.

“Aye. Lady Elizabeth has refused to go home until someone is convicted of the murder of her father.”

Rye scowled. “She didn’t have that many knights with her. They can’t be taking up all the space in the guardroom.”

“The sheriff has been doing all he can to keep the de Beauté party separated from the rest of us,” Rotier explained. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll find you a place somewhere in our own quarters.”

“Thanks,” returned Rye.

“Your wife is better, I take it?”

“Aye. She is better.”

“Good. Well, take your horse to the stable and I’ll see what I can do about finding you a bedplace.”

Rye nodded and led his horse away.

As soon as he had left his saddlebags in the wooden hut where Rotier had found him a place with a group of other knights, the first thing Rye did was to go in search of the man he had come to Lincoln to see. When it became clear that the man wasn’t anywhere in the castle environs, he shrugged and went off to the local tavern for drinks with a group of off-duty guards.

A short while after the midday meal with his father and Hugh, Richard returned to the castle in order to take Elizabeth de Beauté for a ride into the countryside. This outing had become a regular part of his day whenever the weather was fine. Lady Sybil permitted it because he and Elizabeth were never gone too long and because, like most other people, Lady Sybil had fallen under Richard’s spell.

The two young people rode north, as usual, into Lincoln Fields. Ploughing and harrowing would not begin for another few weeks, and the fields lay desolate under the chill February sun. In the distance, the sheep and cows that belonged to the townspeople wandered about the bare communal pasture, searching for grass.

Halfway across the fields, Richard and Elizabeth veered east off the main road and followed a track that led into the woods. After half a mile they came upon a small glade, and there they stopped their horses and dismounted.

Richard tied their reins to a fallen branch, turned to Elizabeth, and held out his arms. She glided into them.

The sun shone into the small glade, reflecting off the mingled fire of the girl’s hair and the more muted gold of the man’s. Richard looked down into the beautiful face uplifted to him. He traced his finger over the girl’s cheek and jawbones, then down the front of her throat until he reached the tie on her mantle.

Elizabeth gazed up at him, her green eyes hazy and sensuous. “What are we going to do, my love?” she murmured. “What if the king refuses to let us marry? What will we do then?”

Richard touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “Stephen prides himself on his chivalry. He will dance to your command the way the rest of us do, my pet.”

Elizabeth did not look convinced. “I might have been able to get my father to change his mind, but the king…” She frowned. “Besides, you don’t dance to my command. Why should you expect the king to?”

Richard’s blue eyes glinted. “Of course I dance to your command,” he said.

Elizabeth shook her head. “Nay. Half of the time I think you are laughing at me. That is why I noticed you when first I met you last year. You looked at me as if I amused you.” She sounded a little indignant.

“You do amuse me,” Richard murmured. He smiled and his voice deepened. “And you fascinate me, and arouse me, and…”

He bent his head and kissed her again. It was an expert and erotic kiss, and Elizabeth’s lips opened and she pressed her body against his.

“I have been thinking, Richard,” she whispered when at last he lifted his mouth from hers. “We don’t have to wait for the king to approve our marriage. We can run away.”

Richard looked at her as if she were mad. “That is impossible. If you do that, the king will be within his rights to strip you of all your property. You do not want that to happen, do you?”

“I thought you said Stephen was chivalrous,” Elizabeth retorted. “It would hardly be chivalrous of him to take from me what is rightfully mine.”

Richard frowned.

She reached up and ran her finger teasingly across his lips. “Richard, do you want me or not?” she asked huskily.

His eyes were very blue. “Of course I want you.”

“Then, once this trial is over, let us elope.”

He shook his head decisively. “An elopement would besmirch your honor, my pet.”

“I don’t care about my honor,” Elizabeth said with all the arrogance of the spoiled child that she was.

“Well, I do,” he returned firmly.

Her beautiful mouth looked sulky. “I thought you said that you danced to my command.”

A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “So I did. But I love you too much to allow you to do anything that might bring harm to you. We will wait for the king’s permission.” He bent his head and took her mouth in a brief, thorough, possessive kiss. Then he looked commandingly into her eyes. “I know Stephen. Make us sound like lovers out of one of those new French romances, and he will give in to you.” He smiled. “He is a man with hot blood in his veins. How could he not?”

A short time later they were back in the saddle and riding toward Lincoln. As they entered the Bail, Richard glanced toward the market stalls and saw Hugh in conversation with one of the merchants.

He frowned.

“What is the matter?” Elizabeth asked. She turned her head and saw Hugh as well. “Are you angry with Lord Hugh?”

Richard’s eyes swung back to her curious face and his own expression relaxed. He smiled. “I must confess that of late Hugh has been getting on my nerves. We were never meant to share a house, we two.”

“He doesn’t like me,” Elizabeth said. She sounded amazed, as if such a thing had never happened to her before.

“I don’t think Hugh likes anyone,” Richard responded sadly. “It might sound like a foolish thing to say about someone who is the heir to an earldom, but I feel sorry for him. He is a bitter man.”

“Sir Richard!” One of the knights of the castle guard was running toward them from the direction of the Minster. “The sheriff is looking for you, sir,” he said when he arrived beside Richard’s big black horse.

“Thank you, Walter,” Richard returned pleasantly. “Is my father at the Minster?”

“Nay, my lord. He is at the castle.”

“I will seek him out directly, then.” He turned back to his riding companion. “Shall we continue on, Lady Elizabeth?”

“By all means, Sir Richard,” she replied demurely.

The guard stood his ground and watched admiringly as the beautiful woman and the tall, splendid knight made their way toward the Inner bail.