A Killing Season

Chapter Eight

One guttering candle struggled against the darkness of the room. Looming shadows mocked the effort.

Sir Hugh began to sweat despite the chill air. Those things that unman us may be secreted from other mortals, he thought, but we can never conceal them from either God or the Evil One. Despite having faced combat with courage enough, he trembled now. Night belonged to the Devil.

“Where is your heathen underling?”

Hugh swallowed a sharp cry, took a deep breath, and willed himself to calm.

A man stood, silhouetted against the light of the entrance.

Or at least it seemed a mortal shape. Choosing caution, Eleanor’s brother said nothing.

Then the man slammed the door shut and walked close to the wall, circling Hugh like a lion after prey. “Have I changed so much that you no longer recognize me? We were like brothers in Outremer.” The voice was hoarse.

Hugh bowed to Baron Herbert. “My lord.”

A shadowy hand waved the courtesy aside. “You did not answer my question.”

“In truth, I could not see your face…”

“My other question.”

“Do you mean Lucas?”

“A fiendish infidel who mocks the true faith. When he took the name of a saint, he committed yet another blasphemous act.”

His face growing hot with anger, Hugh took a moment to reply. “He remains in my manor near London. I knew he would not be welcome here.”

“You may find that King Edward has mounted his head on a spike by the time you return to court.”

“Lucas was judged innocent in the assassination attempt against our king.”

Herbert snorted.

“May we cease this debate, my lord? I have no stomach for arguing with you, and we have never agreed on this matter.”

“There is wine, Hugh. I beg your forgiveness when I ask that you serve yourself.”

Hearing an odd hesitancy in his old comrade’s voice, Hugh’s anger fled. He walked to the pitcher of wine and poured. “May I bring you some of this?” His question was gently asked.

“I brought a cup with me. Will you sit over there?” He pointed to a chair some distance away.

The two men fell silent and drank.

Then the baron dropped his cup. It clattered as it rolled across the stone floor. “The servant will retrieve it later,” he muttered. “I have drunk more than enough this evening.”

Perplexed, Hugh wondered if the baron’s habits had changed since his return home. Herbert had always been temperate. Even so, there was no evidence that the man was drunk. His words were not slurred, nor had he stumbled in the dim light.

“Do you ever long for Acre?”

The question surprised Hugh, and he hesitated before responding: “Sometimes.” The truth was less ambiguous. Had he not been Baron Adam’s eldest son, he might have stayed. Coming back to England had been difficult for him, but that hint of wistfulness in Herbert’s voice, when he mentioned Outremer, was unexpected.

“To you, I may confess this. After taking the cross and leaving my wife and sons, I cursed the day I took that oath. My faith drove me to do what was right, but each night on that ship I dreamed that I was sleeping by my wife’s side. When I awoke…” He coughed.

“Although I have no wife, I did leave my beloved son behind.”

“A good lad, I have heard, who serves as a page at the king’s court.”

Sipping his wine, Hugh waited.

“We did not recover Jerusalem.”

Although the darkness in the room may have hidden the gesture, Hugh silently nodded.

“Yet I almost remained in Acre.”

“Although you loathed the land and its people?”

“The Muslim usurpers? Of course.” Herbert grunted. “Many Christian men did settle there to purify the land.”

Those soldiers cared less about cleansing the earth than acquiring property, Hugh thought, and most married local women. He had heard too many discuss the opportunity to gain wealth. Knowing how much his friend condemned the marriages in particular, he wondered that his friend had even thought to remain. “Not long after you sailed home, King Edward left Acre as well. If you had stayed, you would have been cruelly disheartened. He was Christendom’s strongest leader. With his departure, we lost all hope of regaining the holy city.”

“Dare you doubt that God would lend His hand to another of true faith?”

“If he were also talented in the art of war, there would be no question. Besides King Edward, did you ever see such a man in Acre? I never heard you speak of one.”

“You have always placed cleverness above religion’s power, Hugh. Had you not shown great courage in God’s battles, your laxity in matters demanding faith might have been questioned more often.”

“Why did you want to remain in Outremer, my lord?”

Herbert did not reply for a long moment, then cleared his throat. “I had become very different from the man who left wife and sons in England.”

All of us did change, Hugh thought, but no one discussed the transformation any more than they did their wounds and scars. “Then I am surprised you chose to return.” He knew his words held a sharp edge, but he still struggled against the hurt he had suffered when the baron left Acre. Although the two men had fought together like brothers, his friend left for England without sending even the briefest word of farewell.

“I was no longer worthy of gazing on Jerusalem’s walls. I am a sinner.”

“Are not we all?”

“Most certainly.” He pointed at Hugh. “And you were the greater one, or so I told you once. God has since proven me wrong.” His voice cracked. “I cannot yet point to what unspeakable transgression I committed, but He is punishing me beyond endurance for something.”

Herbert rose from his chair and walked over to the window. For a long time, he stared outside. The silver moonlight cast an eerie glow around him, then clouds the color of soot extinguished the light.

“I understand why you required a priest from me, although there must have been many who could have consoled you on the road back from Acre.”

The baron stood in silence, running the palm of his hand up and down the stones of the cold wall.

Another cloud, trimmed grey with moonlight, scudded across the backdrop of night sky.

Hugh grew impatient. “Out of friendship I came in this winter season, although you gave little enough reason for your plea. Master Gamel, one of the most respected physicians in London, awaits your pleasure. In deference to your rank, Prioress Eleanor agreed to leave Tyndal Priory and bring her own priest to serve your particular spiritual needs. Her sub-infirmarian, Sister Anne, also accompanied her, a renowned healer whose skills are highly praised by many at court.”

“Be not angry with me.”

Hugh heard a catch in the baron’s voice. Was he weeping?

“For all our disagreements over certain matters, I knew I could trust you, not only to come to my aid without question but also never to betray me.”

“Each of us was always the other’s shield in battle, my lord.”

“Let me bury my son tomorrow. Afterward, I shall explain, to the best of my ability, what is happening here. Aye, I have begged much from you, but I fear some hideous plague has struck my family. Whether God has cursed them for my sins, or Satan has taken residence in this castle because it delights his corroded heart, I fail to comprehend. Do you not feel a malign presence here?”

In reply, Hugh put a hand to his heart and nodded.