The Poisoned Serpent

19

The first day of the fair was marred by only a few minor incidents. In one of them a few of the town youngsters stole several jugs of wine and proceeded to get noisily and obnoxiously drunk. The sheriff returned them to their parents and collected money to reimburse the irate vintner whose stall had been plundered.

Aside from the wine incident, five people were arrested for attempted theft, and a husband and wife became so enraged with each other over a purchase that one of the sheriff’s men had to be called in to separate them.

Late in the evening, after the streets were quiet, Alan was sitting in the family hall with Gervase and Richard when Hugh came in.

Alan was shocked to see him. After the way he had humiliated Richard, the squire wondered how he had the nerve to show his face in the sheriff’s house.

Gervase, who knew nothing about the archery contest, greeted Hugh amiably and invited him to have a cup of wine.

Hugh accepted, and sat down on a stool beside the fire. Alan, a look of disapproval upon his young face, poured some wine and brought it to him. Hugh took the cup and sipped the wine.

“Did you enjoy the fair, Hugh?” Gervase asked.

“It was very pleasant,” Hugh returned. “Did you make many arrests?”

“A few,” the sheriff admitted. “No blood was shed, however, and that is the main thing.”

“Aye.” Hugh took another sip from his wine cup, then rested it on his knee.

Alan looked at him. Both the sheriff and Richard were seated in chairs, and their elevated height and dignified posture should have made them the dominant figures in the room. Hugh was folded upon a low stool, balancing a wine glass on his knee, yet he managed effortlessly to be the center of attention.

It was odd, Alan mused, how one always felt compelled to look at Hugh to gauge his reaction to whatever was happening.

Of course, Richard had the same kind of ability to command attention, Alan thought with immediate loyalty. But Richard was so physically magnificent that one expected him to have a dominating presence. Next to Richard, Hugh looked like a boy. Yet he had this magnetic quality about him.

“Did you hear that Lord Guy left Lincoln early this morning?” Gervase said to Hugh.

“Aye.” The fire flamed up behind Hugh’s head. His hair was purely black, Alan noticed. There was no brown in it at all.

“Do you know where he was going?” Gervase asked.

Hugh quirked an ironic eyebrow. “He didn’t confide his plans to me. However, it doesn’t take a great deal of imagination to surmise that he is going to meet the king. I doubt that Guy has given up hope on either the de Beauté marriage or the earldom.”

Alan thought he sounded supremely indifferent to this enticing prospect.

Richard spoke for the first time. “What if Guy is successful and wins both of those things from Stephen? Will you take the earldom?”

“I’d take the earldom if I didn’t have to take the girl,” Hugh replied instantly. “As it is, I already know who I am going to marry, and it is not Elizabeth de Beauté.”

Alan remembered the scene he had eavesdropped upon, and blurted out before he could stop himself, “Is it Lady Cristen?”

Hugh shot him a quick smile. “Aye. It is Lady Cristen.”

Unexpectedly warmed by that friendly look, Alan met Hugh’s eyes. “She is nice,” he said a little shyly.

Hugh regarded him with approval. “Aye. She is very nice.”

A flood of pleasure rushed through Alan.

Hugh looked at Richard. “Did you know that John Rye was in Lincoln?” he asked.

Richard gave him a thoughtful look. “I believe I might have glimpsed him in the castle courtyard this morning. Why do you ask?”

Hugh shrugged.

Richard regarded him steadily.

Alan frowned, opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind, and closed it again.

“Why should Richard care whether or not John Rye is in town?” Gervase asked Hugh gruffly.

“No reason,” Hugh responded lightly.

Gervase looked puzzled.

Richard continued to look thoughtful.

Hugh looked bland.

Alan’s worried frown deepened.

Then Hugh said, “Let us hope that we get through the camp-ball game tomorrow as smoothly as we have gotten through this first day.”

“Aye,” Richard agreed. He gave his father a sympathetic smile. “But it’s not likely.”

Gervase sighed. “I know.”

“Is it dangerous?” asked Alan, who had never attended the camp-ball game before.

“It can get a little rough,” Hugh said with amusement.

“This year we’ve limited the boundaries of the camping close,” Gervase said. “I hope that will help eliminate some of the fighting in alleys that always tends to go on.”

“What are the new boundaries?” Hugh asked.

“The length of the close will be the same as always, from the city wall to the Bail wall, but this year we are going to confine the game to the Mickelgate and the Strait.”

“What?” The identical exclamation, made in identically outraged voices, burst from Richard and Hugh simultaneously.

“That is what the town committee and I have decided,” Gervase said sternly. “I don’t want a mob of overstimulated players running through the streets of Lincoln. There was a great deal of damage done to private property last year and I won’t allow that to happen again.”

“The street is too narrow for all the players,” Richard objected.

“Aye,” said Hugh, for once in agreement with Richard. “I can see the value of limiting the playing field, but one narrow street is not enough space for two hundred players. There will be a constant pileup of men, and no one will be able to move the ball at all.”

“The committee and I have discussed that possibility,” the sheriff said in a measured tone. “If there is a pileup of players and no one can move, the game will be stopped, the pile will be separated, and the side that has possession of the ball will get to throw it.”

Both Richard and Hugh scowled.

“And who is going to have the pleasure of trying to separate the pileup?” Richard asked grimly.

“I am,” Gervase replied.

Silence prevailed while Richard and Hugh digested this information.

“It will make it a different game,” said Hugh.

“The idea is to make it a less destructive game,” the sheriff returned. “At least as far as private property is concerned.”

Hugh took a swallow of his wine. “There goes my idea of letting loose Mistress Chapman’s pigs.” His voice held real regret.

Richard laughed with genuine amusement. “I was going to use that huge swine that belongs to the shoemaker.”

Hugh grinned.

“Well, you boys will just have to think of something that does not involve other people’s livestock,” Gervase said firmly. “If you try to do something like that on the Strait, the whole game will stop.”

Hugh lifted one black eyebrow. “A challenge, Richard,” he said softly.

Richard’s blue eyes glinted. “So it is,” he replied. “So it is.”

The second day of the fair was not as warm or as clear as the first day had been. Clouds had moved in from the east overnight, and there was a dampness in the air that foretold rain.

The weather did not dampen the spirits of the men of Lincoln as they prepared for the camp-ball game, however. The sport itself was very simple. It was played by two teams, each of which had to try to get the leather camp-ball to the opposing side’s goal. The chief rule was that the ball had to be run or thrown, not kicked. The game started when the ball was tossed up between the two sides. Whichever side gained control of it immediately took off for the opposing side’s goal, and went as far as it possibly could.

There were no rules beyond getting the ball to the goal. How you ran the ball, how you stopped the ball, how you stole the ball, all of these things were left to the imagination and invention of the players.

There were always a large number of injuries, ranging from bruises to sprained ankles to broken bones. All the young men of Lincoln adored the game and looked forward to it throughout the whole of the long dark winter.

As soon as ten o’clock mass was finished on Wednesday morning the players gathered in the yard of Saint Peter ad Placita near the city wall in order to choose up sides. This was done quite simply by having each captain call men from among the packed crowd of waiting players.

Hugh, as befitted his superior status, went first.

“Hubert Dunning,” he called, to Alan’s surprise. Hubert was the son of the town’s silversmith. Alan had expected that the men of the castle guard would be taken before the men from town.

A slender, fair-haired young man separated himself from the crowd and went to stand behind Hugh. He was grinning.

Richard chose as Alan had expected. He took one of the largest of the knights from the castle.

Alan tried not to feel disappointed that Richard had not chosen him first.

It was more difficult to restrain his emotions, however, as the choosing of sides went on. Hugh took a variety of men, some from the town and some from the castle. Richard continued to go for the knights first.

He took John Rye, who was not even a permanent member of the castle guard.

Richard did not look once at Alan.

Don’t be a fool, Alan castigated himself. You are not half as strong as these men. You can’t even pull a full-size longbow! Richard wants to win and he is choosing accordingly. He can’t be concerned about your puny feelings.

Then, to Alan’s surprise and intense relief, he heard his name being called.

“Alan Stanham.”

But the voice that had called his name belonged to Hugh.

Alan walked forward, his cheeks flaming, to join the team that opposed his lord.

At last the sides were chosen, and each captain gathered his men on opposite sides of the courtyard for an encouraging talk.

There were slightly more than a hundred men on each side.

The two meetings went very differently. From Richard’s side of the courtyard, Alan could hear uproarious cheers and shouts. Richard knew exactly how to get his men in the right frame of mind for a battle.

Hugh, on the other hand, was all business.

“This is how we are going to play,” he said briskly. He was standing with his back to the church wall, with his team gathered before him. His voice, which was pitched normally, was perfectly audible to the men in the last row. “As you know, the field this year has been confined to the main street, so our tactics must be a little different from in the past. The primary ball carriers today will be Hubert Dunning, Rob Walker, Thomas Mannyng, Michael Baxter, and Alan Stanham.”

Alan’s eyes widened in shock as he heard his name.

“They all throw with accuracy,” Hugh said. He grinned. “I was not wasting my time at the games yesterday, as you can see.”

Everyone laughed.

“Each of the ball carriers is to have a circle of men to protect him. I am going to name the men for this job and who it is they are to protect.”

He reeled off a list of one hundred names, twenty for each of the ball carriers. He did it without notes. He had all of the men’s names in his memory.

The men stood in perfect silence under the overcast sky and listened intently.

Hugh continued, “You are to form up as if the ball carrier was a castle and you are the walls that protect him. There must be a space like a courtyard between the wall and the castle so that the thrower will have room to throw the ball without interference and to receive the ball without it being intercepted by the other team. Is that understood?”

The answers came back: “Aye, my lord,” and “Aye, Hugh,” according to how well the speakers knew their captain.

“Good,” Hugh said. “Once we have formed up, we will spread our five castles along the length of the street. The idea is to pass the ball from one castle to the next. Each castle will run the ball as far as it can and, when the pressure becomes too intense for the walls to hold it back, the thrower will pass the ball to the next castle.”

“What happens if the ball is intercepted?” someone called. “The other team will have an open run to our goal.”

Hugh raised his brows. “Oh, are you planning to let the other team intercept the ball?”

Laughter.

“Seriously, that is a good question,” Hugh said. “Two of our castles will be placed defensively, behind the ball. Their job will be to recover the ball and once more pass it forward.”

The men all nodded intently.

“What about those of us who have no assignment, Hugh?” someone called.

“We are the rovers,” Hugh said. “There will be twelve of us, and our job is to watch what is happening and help out where we are needed.”

Hugh looked over his team in front of him. “Does everyone understand what they are to do?”

The men responded with determination:

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“We do.”

“Excellent,” said Hugh. He grinned, his face bright with anticipation. “Then let’s go out there and have some fun.”

For as long as he lived, Alan would remember that camp-ball game. The starting place was by the shoemaker’s on the Strait, halfway between the two goals. As he had explained to his team, Hugh posted three offensive castle formations between the start and Richard’s goal, which was at the Bail wall at the end of the Strait, and two defensive formations between the start and his own goal, which was at the city wall at the end of the Mickelgate.

Alan’s group was the middle castle between the start and the Bail. He stood in the center of his protective wall of men and tried to quiet the pounding of his heart.

Ralf Haywood, one of the chief freemen of the town, stepped forward to start the game, the leather camp-ball in his hands. The line of men protecting Hubert Dunning, the thrower for the first castle, jostled for position. The men whom Hugh had designated as rovers were at the fore as well.

Alan looked at the mass of men lined up on the other side of the ball.

Richard had objected at first to Hugh’s placing men on his side of the line, but the sheriff had ruled that there was nothing in the rules against it. So then Richard had dispatched a group of his own men to hold position behind Hugh’s lines. He retained most of his team in an offensive position, however, clearly intending to catch the ball first and make a strong aggressive run.

Ralf Haywood stepped into the space that had been left empty between the two sides. He did not come all the way into the center of the street, however, but stood near the shoemaker’s stall and tossed the ball high in the air into the middle of the street.

The two teams surged forward to catch it.

As the mass of men stood on the ground, shoving for position, their eyes and hands uplifted toward the descending ball, a figure sailed into the air over the men and swatted it toward the first of Hugh’s offensive formations.

As Alan watched in fascination, Hugh came down horizontally, landed on three men, and disappeared from sight.

A roar went up as the men defending Hubert got the ball to him and began to move up the Strait, easily bulling their way through the line that Richard had posted for defense.

They had progressed a full eighty yards before the rest of Richard’s team caught up and began to slam into them in deadly earnest.

Over the noise of the crowd, Alan heard Hugh’s voice calling calmly, “Throw it.”

Hubert threw, but his throw was short, and the ball was batted away by one of Richard’s knights. With a roar, the rest of his teammates came running to protect him. The direction of the ball reversed as Richard’s team began to push its way south. All that stood between the opposing team and the goal were the two castles Hugh had posted for defense.

They won’t be able to hold, Alan thought as he tried to see what was happening over the heads of the men surrounding him.

A roar went up from the men around the ball.

“What’s happening?” Alan screamed frantically to the men in front of him.

“It’s a pileup,” one of his teammates shouted back. “One of our men got to the carrier and knocked him down. Everyone else has piled on.”

Minutes passed while the sheriff tried to peel off the kicking and pounding men on the pile to see who on the bottom had the ball in his hands.

Finally another roar went up.

“We have it!” the men in front yelled back to Alan. “One of our knights recovered the ball!”

“Get ready,” someone else warned. “It will be coming back our way.”

“Hugh is going to throw it,” someone else said. “Get ready.”

A roar went up from the crowd along the sides of the street.

“He’s got it to Hubert!” one of Alan’s wall knights shrieked. “Get ready to move back if Hubert’s castle can run the ball up the street.”

The thud of players running sounded like a herd of horses, Alan thought. Richard’s men must be racing forward to get in front of the ball.

“Back!” Alan’s defenders began to shout. “Back up to give them room to move.”

Alan followed the movement of his men as they advanced up the street.

“Stop!” one of the knights shouted.

Alan looked up and saw the ball arching in toward him. He stepped to his left, leaped into the air, and caught it.

A roar of approval went up from the surrounding men. Alan grinned and hugged the ball to his chest, and prepared to follow his defenders as far as they could take him.

They made good progress for almost a hundred yards. Then his protective walls began to crumble. Men went down under the onslaught of Richard’s team. Alan lifted the camp-ball and cocked his arm. Just before he threw, he saw Richard coming at him in a diving lunge.

The look on his face was murderous.

Alan released the ball and went down under a bone-crunching tackle.

He lay still, groaning and fighting for breath. Richard’s weight lifted off him almost instantly and Richard was gone, leaving Alan facedown in the dirt of the road, trying to breathe.

A voice said, “Are you all right?”

Alan groaned again and managed to roll over. He looked up into Hugh’s filthy face.

“I…I think I just had the breath knocked out of me,” Alan managed to croak.

“You had better get over to safety on the side of the street,” Hugh said. “I’ll get someone to take your place.”

“Nay,” Alan said grimly. “I’ll be all right.”

Hugh held out a hand and pulled the squire to his feet. Alan was relieved to find that nothing felt broken. He stood still for a moment, still fighting for breath. Then he said to Hugh, “Let’s go.”

Hugh gave him a blazing smile, turned and ran down the street in the direction of the game. Alan, absurdly buoyed by that brilliant look, followed at his heels.

The camp-ball game went on for another hour. Richard’s team recovered the ball three more times, but each time there was a greater distance between the players and their goal. And no matter how far they managed to advance, they never seemed to make back the ground that they had lost on Hugh’s team’s previous drive.

Slowly but relentlessly, Hugh’s castles advanced toward the Bail wall.

Alan had the ball in his hands twice more during the course of the game, and both times he managed to throw it successfully to Thomas Mannyng, the thrower in the last castle. It was Thomas who was the one who finally got the ball to Richard’s goal and claimed the victory.

Jubilation roared through the winning side. Alan found himself showered with compliments about how he had handled himself and about how accurately he had thrown the ball. The wild celebration culminated with the team lifting the five ball carriers on their shoulders and marching with them down the Strait, accompanied by cheers from the onlookers.

It was the best day of Alan’s life.

He was still perched high above the crowd on the shoulders of his defenders when he saw Hugh break away from the mass of men and begin to race on ahead of the victory parade. He was followed by a tall, thin man whom Alan recognized as one of the sheriff’s constables.

It was a good half hour before the party in the street began to break up. Its dispersal was hastened by the grim news that one of the players, John Rye, had been found stabbed to death.