No Dark Place

2

Ralf Corbaille’s manor of Keal lay in Lincolnshire, a part of England Nigel Haslin was not overly fond of. The fen country of Lincolnshire might be beautiful to those who lived in it, but to a Wiltshire man like Nigel, the endless, flat, watery expanses were not only unattractive, they were a nuisance to travel across.

It was March 1139, seven months after the Battle of the Standard. Time enough, Nigel thought, for Hugh to have recovered from his grief. Time enough for him to be setting his sights upon the future.

The weeks and months had also given Nigel a chance to think more clearly about the wisdom of resurrecting a possible heir to the earldom of Wiltshire. He had been so stunned to see Hugh at Northallerton that he had acted instinctively in talking to Bernard Radvers. The last seven months had given him a chance to consider whether or not he would be wise to proceed in this matter, or if it would be more sensible simply to pretend that he had never seen the boy at all.

As Nigel well knew, Guy de Leon would not be at all happy to find that his nephew had miraculously risen from the dead. Furthermore, he would be furious with the vassal who dared to sponsor such a claimant.

On the other hand, there were many reasons why Nigel would like to see Guy replaced as his overlord.

For one thing, he strongly suspected that Guy had been involved in the death of his elder brother. Nigel had held his former lord in high regard and would very much like to see his murderer punished.

He also gravely disapproved of the dissolute way in which Guy lived.

And finally, he did not approve of Guy’s refusal to declare his support for the king.

In short, Guy was the complete opposite of the brother he had succeeded. Roger de Leon’s name had rung through all of the Christian world for his deeds during the late Crusade. It was Roger who had led the attack upon the gates of Jerusalem, the attack that had won the Holy City back from the infidels. Under Roger, Chippenham had been a model of morality and propriety. Roger, Nigel was certain, would have upheld his feudal oath to his overlord, King Stephen, and not been solely on the lookout for his own advantage.

Nigel would far rather owe his own feudal duty to Roger’s son than he would to Guy.

And then there was Isabel.

What would it mean to her to know that her son was still alive?

When Bernard thought of her, and all her beauty, hidden away in that convent for the last thirteen years, his heart lifted with the hope that Hugh’s return might also mean the return of his mother to the world.

It was late in the afternoon of a cold, blowy day when the party from Wiltshire finally saw the stockade fence of Keal rising in the distance. Gray clouds raced across the wide East Anglia sky as Nigel and the five men of his household guard who were accompanying him approached the manor.

By the time they reached the open gate, a man had moved to bar their way. The sentry was dressed in the leather jerkin and cross-gartered leggings of a man-at-arms and he wore a sword at his side.

Nigel identified himself and stated that he had business with Hugh Corbaille, whose manor he believed this to be.

Nigel was told to wait in the courtyard while the sentry informed his master of the new arrivals. Before he left the courtyard, however, the sentry signaled to two of his fellows to come and stand by Nigel’s party.

Security was not taken lightly at Keal, Nigel thought approvingly.

While he waited, he looked around, judging the quality of the property. As was customary in such establishments, barns and byres lined the inside of the stockade fence, all of them looking to be in very good repair. The house itself was also built of timber. Most of it was two floors high, but attached to the main block was a three-floor section that looked as if it was a more recent addition.

Oddly, even though night was coming on and the air was chill, all the window shutters on the third floor were open.

The front door of the manor swung open and a man came out. It did not take Nigel long to recognize Bernard Radvers.

Bernard crossed the courtyard and came to a halt in front of Nigel’s horse. “So,” he said. “You have come.”

“I said I would,” Nigel replied calmly. “Is the boy within?”

“He has ridden out, but I expect him back shortly.” Several stableboys came running at Bernard’s signal. “You and your party must come inside,” he said courteously. “You are weary and in need of refreshment.”

Nigel dismounted gratefully and followed Bernard to the stairs that led up to the main door of the house. As in so many buildings of this type, the living quarters were on the second floor, as the first floor was used for storage.

Bernard pushed the door open and led Nigel and his following into the chief room of the manor, the hall.

The first thing that struck Nigel’s senses was the fresh, fragrant scent of the room. He looked down and saw that the herb-strewn rushes on the floor looked as if they had been freshly laid that day.

He sniffed appreciatively.

Bernard smiled. “Adela, Ralf’s wife, was always a meticulous housekeeper. Hugh was brought up in an immaculate house, and clearly he has seen to it that Adela’s ways are still followed.”

Nigel nodded and let himself be led forward to the large fireplace in which two massive logs smoldered comfortably. A young boy came from the far side of the room to help him remove his mail coif and hauberk. In the far corner, his guards were also being helped out of their heavy mail garments.

He and his men had made the ride from Wiltshire in full armor, a precaution he always took when traveling in these unsettled times.

A boy brought cups of ale for Bernard and Nigel, and Bernard gestured his guest to one of the heavy carved chairs that were placed near the fireplace. The two men sat down on the comfortable cushions Adela had embroidered, sipped their wine, and regarded each other a little warily.

“Are you part of this household, then?” Nigel asked after he had gratefully swallowed his first draft of ale.

Bernard shook his head. “I am part of the garrison at Lincoln Castle still. I had business in this part of the county, though, and took the opportunity to stop by to see Hugh. I arrived but yesterday.”

Nigel leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs toward the pleasant warmth of the fire. “Have you told him aught of what passed between us at Northallerton?”

“No.” Bernard’s pale blue eyes regarded him mea-suringly. “I was not sure if I would ever see you again.”

“Well, as you see, I have come.”

Bernard took a sip of ale and looked steadily at Nigel over the top of his cup. “Why?”

Nigel made an impatient gesture. “We have been over this ground before, I think. I have come because I believe this boy may be the heir to the earldom of Wiltshire.”

Slowly, Bernard revolved his pewter ale cup in his hands. “I have done some investigating of the present earl since last we spoke,” he said. “He is not a man likely to open his arms wide to a long-lost nephew desirous of usurping his place.”

“I know that,” Nigel returned calmly. “On the other hand, if King Stephen himself recognizes Hugh as Roger’s son, then Guy will have no legal claim to the earldom.”

Bernard gave the other knight a long, level look. “Why should Stephen want to recognize Hugh?”

“Stephen knows that Roger was murdered. Perhaps Hugh will be able to tell the king who was responsible for that heinous crime. If it was Guy…well, Stephen will not allow a murderer to continue on as one of his earls.”

“You forget one thing,” Bernard said. His steady eyes regarded Nigel over his wine cup. “Hugh will not be able to name the murderer. He does not remember anything that happened to him before he came to Ralf.”

Nigel looked skeptical. “Does he really not remember, or is he just saying that?”

“Believe me,” Bernard said with absolute finality. “He really does not remember.”

Silence fell as Nigel contemplated this statement.

Finally he said, “Well, even if Hugh cannot point a finger at Guy, there is still ample reason for Stephen to take up his cause.”

“I don’t see why,” Bernard said.

Nigel leaned a little forward in his chair, trying to communicate his sense of urgency. “Stephen needs Wiltshire. If Hugh will promise to stand with Stephen, and if we can present some reasonable evidence that he is indeed Earl Roger’s lost son, then I have no doubt that the king will support his claim over Guy’s.”

Bernard looked thoughtful. “Why should Stephen be so eager to get rid of Guy? Is he going to declare for Matilda?”

Nigel leaned back in his chair. “Guy will declare for no one,” he said bitterly. “He will sit on the edge of the battle and, like a scavenger, look to grab up every scrap of the leavings for himself.”

Before Bernard could reply to this harsh comment, the hall door opened and Hugh came into the room. His step was quiet, nor had the door made any noise when it opened, but every man in the hall was instantly aware of his presence.

It always amazed Bernard to see how effortlessly the boy could command attention.

There had been the faint murmur of voices in the hall before Hugh’s entrance, but silence fell as the boy crossed the rush-strewn floor toward the two men seated before the comfortable fire.

Bernard felt his stomach twist as once again he beheld the too-thin face of Ralf ’s beloved foster son. Until yesterday, he had not seen Hugh since they had buried Ralf last summer, and he had been profoundly shocked to see that thin, nervy face, those shadowed gray eyes. He thought the boy looked as if he were at the end of his tether.

I knew it would not be good for him to be alone here, Bernard thought now grimly. There are too many memories at Keal.

But there were few alternatives for Hugh. He had inherited Keal as well as Ralf’s two other, smaller manors, and this was where he was supposed to be.

Bernard said composedly, “Hugh, this is Nigel Haslin of Somerford Castle in Wiltshire. He has traveled a long way in order to speak to you.”

Outside it must have begun to rain, because there was a fine mist of drops on Hugh’s black hair. He unfastened his cloak and stood there in a leather jerkin and beautifully embroidered shirt. Bernard recognized Adela’s talented workmanship.

A young boy came on quiet feet to take the damp cloak and put a cup of ale into Hugh’s hand.

Hugh didn’t drink, just stood there looking at Nigel, waiting.

Nigel shot a quick glance at Bernard. “This is not business that ought to be discussed in front of others,” he said.

Hugh frowned.

“It’s important, lad,” Bernard assured him. “Why don’t you take Nigel upstairs to the solar and talk to him there?”

For a long moment, Hugh didn’t reply. At last he said softly, “Very well,” and, without looking at either man, he turned and led the way to the stairs that went from the hall up to the third level of the addition.

There were two doors at the top of the stairs and Hugh opened one, which led into a large comfortable room with tapestry-covered walls and heavy, carved, cushioned furniture. At least the room would have been comfortable, Nigel thought, if all the windows had not been open to let in the cold, damp, rainy air. There was no fireplace in this room, just a tiled hearth place in the center that contained an unlit charcoal brazier. The floor was swept bare.

Hugh made no move to invite him to sit but stood there in silence, waiting.

Nigel looked at the beautiful, wary face in front of him.

He had to be Isabel’s son. Those cheekbones…that mouth…

Nigel took a deep breath and began to speak. The minutes went by like hours as Bernard waited for the two men to come back downstairs. But when Nigel finally returned to the hall, he was alone.

“Well?” Bernard said urgently as the other knight joined him in front of the warm fire.

Nigel’s mouth was tight. “He doesn’t believe me. He says it cannot be true.”

Bernard heaved himself to his feet. “Was he upset?”

“Who knows?” Nigel said. “That is a boy who shows nothing on his face. All I can tell you is that he was adamant that he cannot possibly be the son of Roger, Earl of Wiltshire.”

“You told him about the resemblance? About the left-handedness?”

“Of course I told him those things,” Nigel responded impatiently. “He didn’t listen. All he would do is deny it.”

“Let me talk to him,” Bernard said.

“He is where I left him,” Nigel said a little bitterly. “He dismissed me out of hand.”

Slowly Bernard climbed the stairs to the next level, bracing himself for what he was going to find. He owed it to Ralf to do his best for Hugh. He just wished he knew what the best thing was.

Hugh was standing in the middle of the room, staring down at the empty brazier, when Bernard came in.

The room was freezing. Without comment, Bernard went around closing the shutters.

“Adela would have had the brazier lit and the shutters closed,” he said to Hugh’s back.

“I told them to air it out today. I never sit here anymore,” Hugh said.

The solar had been the gathering place for the family that no longer existed.

Bernard glanced toward the two doors that opened off the solar. They led to two bedrooms. One had belonged to Ralf and Adela and one had belonged to Hugh. From the previous night, Bernard knew that Hugh still used his bedroom. Privacy had always been of paramount importance to him.

Bernard said, “What did you think of Nigel’s story?”

At that, Hugh swung around to face him. “How long have you known of this?” he demanded.

“He saw you at Northallerton and approached me,” Bernard said.

“Why did you tell him about me?” Hugh asked furiously. “Why did you tell him about my memory?”

Bernard had been prepared for shock. He had not been prepared for this anger. “Hugh,” he said carefully. “Think. It may just be possible that you are this Hugh de Leon. At any rate, you cannot dismiss the possibility out of hand.”

“Aye, I can. I am Hugh Corbaille. I do not want or need to be anyone else.”

Nigel refused to flinch before the flame of Hugh’s anger. He said as reasonably as he could, “Before you were Hugh Corbaille you were someone else. You know that. I know that. Why is it so impossible that you were not this lost boy?”

Hugh pushed his still damp hair off of his forehead. “Because I would know it if I were. Do you think I would forget being the heir to such greatness?”

Bernard persevered. “You might have. Something happened to make you forget your past. That you cannot deny.”

“I forgot my past because it was best for me to forget it. Terrible things happened to me…”

Abruptly the boy broke off. His eyes, huge and shocked, met those of Bernard.

“What terrible things, Hugh?” Bernard asked gently.

Hugh shook his head mutely and turned his back on the knight.

“I don’t remember,” he said.

And he didn’t want to remember, Bernard realized at last.

It was time, Bernard thought, to speak a few home truths.

“You are wasted here, lad,” he said bluntly. “If you had not been so young, it is highly likely that you would have been appointed sheriff after Ralf. You have the knack of leadership. Men look to you. From the time you were sixteen and Ralf first brought you to the castle with him, you have been a presence. There is more for you to do with your life than to collect rents and see that your lands are farmed.”

Hugh shook his head but didn’t reply.

“You are bored to death here,” Bernard said. “Admit it.”

Hugh said, “The present Earl of Wiltshire is one of the most powerful men in the land. It is mad to think that I could take his place.”

Still speaking to Hugh’s back, Bernard said, “You would make a good earl. It may even be in your blood.”

As Hugh swung around to face him, Bernard said deliberately, “I never would have thought that Ralf could rear a coward.”

Hugh’s chin came up. His gray eyes glittered. He said levelly, “Don’t try me too hard, Bernard.”

Prudently, Bernard gave ground. “Just think about it, lad. That is all I ask of you. This is not an opportunity to throw away.”

Hugh’s body was rigid with resistance.

“Why are you so anxious to see me make a fool of myself?” he asked bitterly.

“I think this Nigel Haslin is honest,” Bernard said. “I think his story is worth pursuing, at least for a little bit.”

And to himself he added, Anything is worth getting you away from here.

“Will you think about it, at least?” he said.

There was a line like a sword between Hugh’s straight black brows. “I will think about it,” he said.

Trestle tables were set up in the hall for supper, and Nigel sat at the high table with Hugh and Bernard.

The only women in the hall were a few servants who sat at one of the lower tables. At the high table they were served by two young boys. As it was Lent, the main course consisted of a sauced mullet, which tasted deliciously fresh, to Nigel’s surprise and delight. The three men discussed the latest news from court, the chief tidbit being that Stephen had succeeded in getting his brother, Henry, Bishop of Winchester, appointed papal legate, thus making him superior in rank to the Archbishop of Canterbury.

No further word was mentioned of the Earl of Wiltshire.

After supper was over and the trestle tables were being scrubbed with sand and removed, Hugh and the two older knights moved back to the fire.

In one of the corners, a man had taken out a lute and was strumming it.

Bernard said to Hugh, “Why don’t you offer Nigel a game of chess?”

Hugh shot him an ironic look. “Why don’t you play him, Bernard? I will be glad to look on.”

Bernard turned to the visiting knight. “Are you a good player?” he asked.

“I am accounted so,” Nigel replied comfortably.

“Play him,” Bernard said to Hugh. “And give him a knight.”

At that, Nigel sat a little forward in his chair. “That would not be fair.”

“I play rather well,” Hugh said.

Nigel’s aristocratic nose quivered slightly with insult. “So do I,” he informed the twenty-year-old sitting opposite him on the other side of the fire.

Hugh shrugged and called for the chess set. One of the boys who had served them at supper set the board up between the two men. Silence fell as the game began.

Twenty minutes later, Nigel, who was actually an excellent player, found himself in checkmate.

“I should have accepted that extra knight,” he said slowly, staring at the arrangement of pieces on the board.

“Aye,” Hugh said gravely. He stood up. “You can share my parents’ bedroom off the solar with Bernard. He will show you the way. I will be going to bed myself once I make my evening rounds.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll see to Nigel’s comfort, lad,” Bernard said easily. “His men can sleep here in the hall with mine and yours.”

Hugh nodded and turned away from them, heading toward the door that led outside. He took his cloak from where it was hanging on a nail by the door, flung it around himself, and went out into the rain.

“Well?” Nigel said, turning to look at Bernard.

“Come upstairs,” the other man said, “and we can speak in private.”