The Poisoned Serpent

23

After Hugh had dismissed him, Alan bolted down the tower stairs and kept on running until he had reached the armory hall. There he stopped, his heart beating fast, his thoughts in a chaos of humiliation and uncertainty. He was still standing there, alone in the hall, when Richard himself came in.

For the first time in his life, Alan wasn’t overjoyed to see his lord. He didn’t want to have to face Richard now. He wanted some time to sort out in his mind all the distressing information he had so illicitly overheard. Unfortunately, there was little hope of hiding himself in this empty, cavernous hall.

Richard hailed him genially and crossed the room to his side. Alan watched his lord approach, so tall and strong and handsome, the perfect knight in looks as well as performance.

“Did you get the Rye children safely to Lincoln, then?” Richard asked.

“Aye, my lord,” Alan replied. He avoided Richard’s gaze, staring instead at the fine blue wool of his tunic’s shoulder.

“Good.” Richard took a step closer. “Poor little brats. It was extremely kind of Hugh to take them in.” He sounded agreeably surprised at finding such kindness in Hugh.

With great effort, Alan brought himself to look into the blue eyes of his lord. They were regarding him with perfect benevolence.

It isn’t true, he thought. Richard would never do the things that Hugh accused him of.

But someone was overcharging on the stall rents. Hugh couldn’t have made that up. If the culprit wasn’t Richard, then it had to be the sheriff. Alan drew a deep breath and decided that it would only be fair to alert Richard to Hugh’s knowledge.

“My lord,” he said. He could feel his cheeks flaming, but he manfully kept his gaze on Richard’s face. “I am very sorry to tell you this, but Lord Hugh has found out that someone is cheating the king out of taxes on the market stall rents.”

Richard went perfectly still. “How do you know this?” he asked sharply.

Alan’s eyes dropped away. “I overheard Hugh talking to Bernard,” he mumbled.

Richard was silent for so long that Alan finally looked at him again. His face was white with fury and there was something in his eyes that Alan had seen once before, when Richard had tackled him in the camp-ball game.

Alan involuntarily backed up a step.

When Richard finally spoke, his voice was perfectly controlled. “Tell me exactly what you heard.”

In a low monotone Alan repeated the part of Hugh’s conversation that pertained to the sheriff and the market stall rents. He hesitated, looked at Richard’s angry face, then decided to refrain from saying that Hugh also suspected that Richard himself might be the thief.

When Alan had finished, Richard looked away from him and toward the sheriff’s office.

“How could he be so stupid?” The contempt in his voice was withering.

Alan stared at his feet and said nothing.

Richard turned on his heel and started across the hall. “Come with me,” he said. Alan trailed behind him reluctantly. The last thing he wanted to do was accuse the sheriff of cheating the king out of his taxes.

They met Gervase in the hall outside his office door. “Come inside, Father,” Richard said. His words were a command, not a request. “There is something you need to know.”

Gervase glanced once at his son. Then, without speaking a word, he turned and went back into his office. Richard and Alan followed.

Richard closed the door and the three of them stood just inside it, Gervase and Richard facing each other, Alan a step behind Richard.

Gervase said calmly, “What is it, Richard? I am late as it is.”

“Alan,” Richard said. “Tell my father what you overheard.”

With his eyes focused on Gervase’s chest, Alan said in a colorless monotone, “I overheard Lord Hugh telling Bernard Radvers that he had discovered someone was overcharging for the market stalls in the Bail and not reporting it on the tax roll.”

Gervase didn’t make a sound. Alan glanced up at his face. The sheriff was gray.

“Is it true?” Richard’s voice was harsh. “I looked recently at the tax roll myself and it seemed to be in order, but if Hugh can bring witnesses to testify that what the merchants pay in rent is higher than what is being reported to the Exchequer…” His mouth set in a hard, grim line.

“Jesus wept,” Gervase said heavily. “How in the name of God did Hugh find this out?”

“It is true, then?” Richard demanded.

Moving as if he were eighty years old, Gervase went over to the backless bench that stood in front of one of the room’s chests and slowly lowered himself onto it.

“Aye,” he replied bleakly. “It is true.”

Richard’s fists clenched at his side. He cursed.

Gervase winced.

“Christ,” Richard said in a low, furious voice. “How could you be so stupid, Father?”

“I don’t know,” Gervase replied. He rubbed his eyes. “It was just so easy, Richard. I didn’t plan to do it when first I decided to rent out the Bail for market stalls. But, as I thought about it, I saw how easy it would be to take a piece of the rent for myself. The merchants would never know that what I collected from them was not what I declared on the tax rolls. And the Exchequer office was certainly not going to come to Lincoln to question everyone from whom I collected money for the king.” He shrugged wearily and repeated, “It was just so easy.”

“I saw Hugh talking to one of the merchants the other day,” Richard said grimly.

Gervase buried his face in his hands. Alan looked away. It was not pleasant to see a proud man like the sheriff brought so low.

“Cheating on the taxes is bad enough, but don’t you realize that this gives you a motive for killing Gilbert de Beauté?” Richard demanded.

At that, the sheriff lifted his head. “What are you talking about?”

“Suppose de Beauté discovered this cheat. Wouldn’t that be a reason for you to want him out of the way?”

“But he didn’t discover the cheat, Richard! I swear to you, he knew nothing about the stall rents.”

Richard said coldly, “Can you prove that?”

“Oh God.” Gervase’s eyes were full of despair.

Richard went on relentlessly. “You were the man de Beauté was supposedly going to meet in the Minster the night he was killed. Your stupid cheat has made it very easy for Hugh to maintain that you yourself were the one who gave the messages to be delivered to the earl and Bernard. Given this information about the stall rents, you have more of a motive for wanting de Beauté dead than Bernard does.”

Gervase stood up. “I didn’t do it,” he said. “You must believe me, son. I didn’t do it.”

“Oh, I believe you, Father.” Richard’s voice held more than a trace of sarcasm. “The question is, will the king’s chief justiciar believe you?”

Silence fell as father and son looked at each other.

Alan reluctantly decided that he had better tell Richard that the sheriff was not Hugh’s only suspect.

“My lord,” he said in a a low voice, “Lord Hugh thinks that you may be the one who is responsible for cheating on the stall rents.”

Richard’s head whipped around to look at his squire. “Me?”

“Aye, my lord. You know…you know how Lord Hugh does not like you…” Alan’s voice trailed away at the look on Richard’s face. He stared at his feet.

“How perfectly splendid,” Richard said with excoriating bitterness. “And did Hugh offer any reasons, beyond his dislike, for thinking me guilty of such a deed?”

With difficulty, Alan refrained from nervously shuffling his feet. “Well…he told Bernard that you appear to have a great deal of money. You keep a squire and have a nice horse and…” Alan’s voice petered out.

“I gave Richard the money for those things,” Gervase said strongly. “He is not implicated in this cheat in any way at all.”

“God damn it, Father,” Richard burst out. “What you stole was a pittance! How could you risk so much for so little?”

Alan blinked at this point of view.

For the first time since they had come into the office, Gervase actually looked at Alan. “Is Hugh prepared to bring this matter up before the chief justiciar?”

“I think so,” Alan replied unhappily. “He is determined to save Bernard from being convicted, and he thinks that this information will cast doubt upon Bernard’s guilt.”

“Did Hugh say anything else that might pertain to this case?” Richard demanded.

All Alan wanted to do was get away. He hesitated, looked into Richard’s angry eyes, and decided not to tell him what Hugh suspected in regard to John Rye. It could have nothing to do with either Richard or the sheriff, he assured himself.

“No, my lord,” he said in a subdued tone.

“Very well, Alan,” Richard said. “That will be all for now.”

“Aye, my lord,” Alan said, and backed up a step.

For the first time since Alan had broken the news about Hugh’s information, Richard’s face lost its hard, angry look. “I am sorry that you had to be involved in this sordid business, Alan.” Briefly he touched his squire’s shoulder. “But you were right to come to me.”

“Aye, my lord,” Alan gulped.

Richard smiled, the old intimate smile that always warmed Alan’s heart. “You won’t say anything to anyone else about this, will you?”

“Of course not, my lord,” Alan replied stiffly.

“Good lad.”

Alan nodded, backed up, turned, and thankfully made his escape.

Cristen accepted a cup of wine from Elizabeth de Beauté while Nicholas and Iseult sat like statues, side by side on a stool against the wall. Cristen had chosen to wait for Hugh here because it would be an easy place for him to find them, but she devoutly hoped he would not be long. Elizabeth de Beauté’s conversation was far too personal for Cristen’s taste.

Elizabeth smoothed her skirt and regarded Cristen with wide, feline eyes. “You don’t mind that Lord Hugh has made you nursemaid to his orphans?” she asked, glancing once at the two children huddled together near the door.

“I don’t mind at all,” Cristen returned, taking a small sip of her wine.

Elizabeth tapped long, elegant fingers on the arm of her chair. “I imagine you would do anything he asked of you,” she said next.

“Perhaps,” Cristen replied evenly.

Elizabeth’s green eyes glittered. “You must have been heartbroken when he promised to marry me.”

“I didn’t know that he had promised to marry you,” Cristen returned calmly.

“Of course he did,” Elizabeth snapped, her eyes gleaming all the more. “All the world knows that we were betrothed.”

“I did not realize that papers had been signed,” Cristen said with mild surprise.

Elizabeth’s gaze narrowed, becoming more catlike than ever. “My father died before the papers could be signed. But the marriage was arranged and well you know it, Lady Cristen.”

“I know that Lord Guy arranged it with your father,” Cristen agreed in a perfectly pleasant voice. “However, I do not believe that Hugh was consulted.”

Elizabeth stiffened visibly. “What are you implying?” she demanded. “Are you implying that Lord Hugh was going to refuse to marry me?”

Cristen fine brows lifted into two aloof arches over her luminous brown eyes. “Did I say that?”

Elizabeth’s beautiful pale skin was flushed with anger. “Well, let me tell you, my lady, that Lord Hugh was not the only one who was not going to agree to our marriage.”

Cristen peered into her wine cup to hide her sudden alertness. “Indeed?” she said softly.

“Aye, indeed! Don’t think that you have stolen away from me a prize that I ever wanted. My heart has long been given elsewhere, and where my heart lies, so shall my hand in marriage. I told that to my father and I shall tell it to the king as well!” Elizabeth’s voice rang with temper and pride.

Cristen turned her head and gave her companion a look that was simultaneously sympathetic and admiring. “Good for you, Lady Elizabeth. For your sake, I hope the king will approve your choice.”

“He will approve my choice or I will refuse to marry at all,” Elizabeth said loftily.

Cristen’s eyes filled with respect. “That is very brave of you,” she said. “It is so difficult to be a woman, don’t you think? One has so little power.”

Elizabeth raised her chin. “I have power. I am the de Beauté heiress. My lands will go with me when I marry. The king cannot take them away from me without looking like a churl. Nor can he force me to wed someone I do not like. The pope has said so.”

Cristen chose not to dispute these remarkable statements. “Would you really go into a convent if the king does not approve your choice?” she asked in wonder.

Elizabeth laughed scornfully. “Can you imagine me in a convent?”

Cristen smiled and shook her head. “But what would be your alternative?”

“There are ways to marry without the approval of one’s overlord,” Elizabeth announced.

“An elopement?” Cristen said.

“If necessary,” Elizabeth said, lifting her chin even higher.

“You must truly be in love, Lady Elizabeth,” Cristen said soberly.

Elizabeth looked at her, and Cristen could see the exact moment when she realized what she had just given away.

“I can count on your discretion, can’t I, Lady Cristen?”

“Of course you can,” Cristen replied in her most soothing tone. “I of all people understand how you must feel. It is a terrible thing to think of losing the man that one loves.”

Elizabeth smiled radiantly. “I knew you would understand.”

“I do,” Cristen replied. “Believe me, I do.”

Later that evening, after Nicholas and Iseult had been put to bed with Benjamin to keep guard, Hugh and Cristen sat together in the main hall of Ralf’s house and Cristen told him about her conversation with Elizabeth de Beauté. They were alone, as Thomas and Mabel had made an excuse to busy themselves in the kitchen.

“Why on earth did she tell you all this?” Hugh asked in astonishment. He was sitting in Ralf’s old chair by the fire.

Cristen raised one eyebrow. “Because she was insulted when I implied that you were going to refuse to marry her. She told me so that I would know that she didn’t want you either.”

“Good heavens,” said Hugh, still astonished.

“She is not accustomed to rejection,” Cristen said.

He laughed, stretched out his legs in front of him, and crossed his booted feet at the ankles.

Cristen, seated in Adela’s old chair, looked at him thoughtfully. “Who do you think the man is?”

“It has to be Richard,” Hugh replied. “They appear to be very close.”

Cristen nodded her agreement. “If it is Richard, however, she must have known him for longer than we thought. Even Richard could not charm an already betrothed girl into defying her father on the acquaintance of a few weeks. He must have fixed his interest with her earlier.”

“Mmm. It would be just Richard’s style to pick out a wealthy, high-born girl like Elizabeth and make her fall in love with him. Undoubtedly he was hoping that she would be able to convince her father to let him marry her.” He raised an ironic eyebrow. “Richard would love to be the next Earl of Lincoln.”

Cristen frowned. “If that theory is correct, Hugh, it means Richard would want the earl alive rather than dead. I should think that Elizabeth’s doting father would be more likely than the king to allow her to choose her own husband.”

Hugh leaned his head against the back of his chair and rested his hands on the chair arms. “Perhaps,” he agreed. “But what if the earl had discovered the market stall cheat? If he knew about it, and if Richard is indeed the man behind it, then it would be imperative for Richard to get him out of the way. Under those circumstances, the earl would never allow Richard to marry his daughter.”

The light from the fire illuminated Hugh’s dark head as it lay against the high chair back. Cristen looked at his relaxed figure and nodded thoughtfully.

Comfortable silence reigned as they both pursued their own thoughts.

Finally Cristen said, “What are we going to do if we can’t find relatives to care for Nicholas and Iseult?”

“I doubt that there are any relatives I would feel comfortable entrusting them to,” Hugh replied. “I suppose we could prevail upon a distant cousin to take them in, but can you imagine what their lives would be like under such circumstances?”

“Shall we take them, then?” Cristen asked.

“Would you mind?”

She lifted affronted eyebrows.

“I only asked for form’s sake,” he assured her.

She smiled.

“So there is another reason that we must be married soon,” Hugh said.

“Aye.”

“Can you just see us, Richard and me, trotting in one after the other to beg the king to allow us to marry the girl of our choice?” Hugh said with irony.

“Your situations are rather different,” she pointed out. “Richard wants to marry above his station and you want to marry below yours.”

Hugh held out his hand, and Cristen got up from her chair and went over to join him in his. He put an arm around her shoulders and they sat quietly, their bodies pressed together in the confines of the chair, her head resting on his shoulder.

They stayed that way as the fire slowly died down.

Finally Hugh said, “I should go.”

She sighed. “I know.”

Neither of them moved.

The room was growing cold when finally Hugh kissed the top of the silky brown head that lay on his shoulder. “Soon I won’t have to leave you at all,” he said fiercely.

“That will be wonderful,” she replied softly. And smiled so that he wouldn’t see the fear she harbored in her heart.

Precisely at noon on Friday, the king’s Chief Justiciar of England, Lord Richard Basset, entered the city of Lincoln. With him he bore the official seal of his office: the device of a knight in full armor striking with his sword a rampant monster that grasped in its mouth a helpless, naked figure.

Lord Richard was received by the sheriff and the bishop, and was made comfortable in the guest chamber of the bishop’s house.

He was a very busy man, the chief justiciar announced, and he had to be back in London within the week. Therefore, the trial of Bernard Radvers would begin promptly on the morrow.

The chief justiciar was given a splendid dinner by the bishop, and attended evening services in the Minster. After these devotions he retired to his room to look through the documents that the sheriff had submitted to him pertaining to the murder case he was to hear on the morrow. After the sand had run out in his hourglass, the chief justiciar went to bed and slept the sleep of the just.

Hugh did not have so tranquil an evening. He spent most of it prowling the perimeter of an imaginary rectangle while Cristen and the children sat close to the fire, along with Mabel and Thomas. Mabel was singing for them in her lovely clear soprano.

Finally Cristen turned to Hugh, pacing at the end of the room, and said with a mixture of sympathy and resignation, “Stalking around like a hungry tiger isn’t going to help anything, Hugh.”

Across the room their eyes met.

“I know.” Slowly he came to join the group by the fire and stood next to Cristen in her chair. “I just keep thinking that there is some important piece of evidence that I have missed.”

Nicholas was sitting on a stool with Benjamin’s head lying on his lap. He gazed up at Hugh and asked, “What are you worried about, Hugh?”

Hugh looked at the boy’s inquiring face and didn’t reply.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Nicholas said with dignity. “I am sorry if I pried.”

Hugh said, “I’m worried because a friend of mine goes on trial for murder tomorrow and I need to prove that he is innocent.”

“Did he murder my papa?” Iseult asked curiously.

“He didn’t murder anyone, sweeting,” Hugh returned. “Somebody else did the murder and is trying to lay the blame on my friend.”

“Was my father really murdered?” Nicholas asked in an awestruck voice. “I thought it was an accident.”

“I think he was murdered, Nicholas. I think he was murdered by the same man who killed the Earl of Lincoln. That is whose death the trial tomorrow is about, you see. Bernard Radvers, my friend, is accused of killing the Earl of Lincoln.”

“What about my father?”

“I think your father knew something about the earl’s murder and he was killed to keep him quiet.”

Nicholas’s eyes were huge pools of blue. “My father did go into Lincoln to see someone special,” he said. “Do you think that is the man who killed him?”

All the attention in the room converged on Nicholas.

Hugh said carefully, “Do you know who your father was going to see, Nicholas?”

“Well…he didn’t tell me,” the boy replied, “but I overheard him telling my mother. He said that this man was sure to pay him good money and then he would be able to buy a manor that would be truly our own.”

The room was deadly silent. Nicholas had gone very pale. Seeking reassurance, he played with Benjamin’s ears.

Then Cristen said gently, “This is very important, Nicholas. What was the name of the man your father told your mother he was going to see?”

Nicholas bit his lip and answered, “He was going to see the sheriff.”