The Poisoned Serpent

18

On Sunday evening Bernard’s fever dropped, and by Monday his cough had loosened, his chest was less painful, and his fever was almost gone. When Hugh came into the sickroom on Monday morning and wanted to take Cristen to the fair for a few hours, Mabel insisted that she go.

“I will remain with Bernard, my lady,” the girl said earnestly. “Go with Lord Hugh. You need to get outdoors for a while.”

“But what about you, Mabel?” Cristen said. “Don’t you want to see the fair?”

Mabel’s round kittenish face took on an expression that was almost comically prim. “Thomas said he would escort me to the fair later this afternoon, my lady. I will go when you get back.”

Eventually Cristen allowed herself to be persuaded, and she and Hugh exited the dark, damp castle into one of the fairest, warmest days Lincoln had seen in quite some while.

“Saint Agatha is providing good weather, I see,” Cristen commented. She tipped her face up toward the sky as she and Hugh crossed the courtyard of the keep to the stairs that would take them to the Inner bail.

Hugh smiled down at her. “You look like a flower drinking up the sunshine.”

She laughed.

“I have some news that will make the day seem even finer,” he said. “Guy and his household left Lincoln early this morning. We won’t have to worry about running into his friendly face in town today.”

They reached the top of the steep stone steps and began to descend them. As soon as they were once more on level ground, she turned to Hugh with a faint frown between her delicate brows. “Do you know where Guy has gone?”

Hugh gave her an ironic look. “He did not leave me a message, but I think I can make a good guess. The sheriff received word late yesterday that the king’s Cornish campaign was successful. Apparently, Stephen retook all of the castles that the rebels were holding. He put the Earl of Richmond in charge of them, and should be returning north himself very shortly.”

Two knights walked passed them, and Hugh nodded in return to their greeting.

“What of Father?” Cristen asked tensely.

“He’s fine,” Hugh assured her, “and so apparently are all the Somerford muster. There were no reported deaths or serious injuries.”

She shut her eyes. “Thank God.”

They walked for a few more steps, then she said, “Do you think Guy has gone to meet the king?”

“Aye,” Hugh said. “He still wants the marriage with Elizabeth de Beauté for me, and he wants the earldom of Lincoln along with it.”

As they neared the stockade, Hugh looked for Rufus. The white stallion had been turned out in the stockade with several other horses and was now stretched out on his side in the sun, his legs sticking straight out in front of him. He was so deeply asleep that Hugh walked a little closer to the stockade fence to make certain he was breathing. Then he turned back to Cristen.

“Guy provided de Leon knights and men at arms for Stephen’s army,” he said. “You can be certain that he will remind the king of the value of his loyalty.”

Two grooms carrying brimming buckets of water passed them on their way to the stockade. On such a warm day, the horses would be drinking more than usual.

Hugh went on, “I don’t know if Guy will tell the king about your visit to Lincoln, but you can be certain that he will tell your father.”

Silently Cristen nodded.

Hugh put a hand on the red wool of her sleeve to halt her and turn her to face him. “We can’t wait much longer, Cristen,” he said intensely. “Once your father hears about us, he will come directly to Lincoln to take you home.”

“You can’t leave Bernard to hang,” she protested.

“If I have to, I’ll break him out of the castle and hide him until I can find out who the real murderer is.”

Cristen searched his face to see if he meant what he had said.

He did.

She bit her lip and looked worried.

“Damn Guy,” Hugh said with suddenly explosive anger. “I should be the earl, not he. He has no legitimate authority over me. I should be able to marry whomever I choose to marry!”

Cristen glanced around and saw that several of the foot soldiers were looking at them curiously. She put her hand on his arm and walked him forward.

“I have been thinking, Hugh.” She gave a shadowy smile. “One has a lot of time to think when one is watching by a sickbed.”

He nodded tensely.

“I thought, what if you went to Stephen and promised him your support if he would allow you to marry me?”

Hugh looked puzzled. “Guy has promised Stephen his support in payment for the de Beauté marriage,” he pointed out. “Why should my offer be more attractive to the king than Guy’s? He has the power. He is the earl, not me.”

“Stephen must know that Guy’s allegiance is only good for as long as it is useful to Guy,” Cristen returned. “You are not like that. Once you swear an oath of loyalty, you will not break it.”

Hugh slowly shook his head. “You may know that, Cristen, because you know me. But the king does not know me like you do.”

“He knows whose son you are,” Cristen said.

Hugh’s face went very still.

They had almost reached the east gate, where the knights on duty watched them as they approached.

Cristen said, “Your father was the greatest crusader of his time. Considering the conduct of his own father, it is a fact that Stephen is not likely to forget.”

“When I proposed going to Robert of Gloucester and making him this very offer, you opposed it!” Hugh flared. “Why send me to Stephen?”

They silenced their conversation while they passed through the east gate, not resuming it until they were outside the hearing of the knights.

Then Cristen said, “I am not sending you to Stephen. I am simply asking you to think about it.”

“Why Stephen and not Gloucester?” Hugh repeated.

“The answer to that is very simple,” Cristen returned. “I do not think that Gloucester can win this war.”

Hugh said nothing.

Cristen went on, “You are right when you say that Stephen is not the most clever of kings. But you must admit that he is facing an almost impossible situation, Hugh. Not only is he fighting Matilda and Gloucester here in England, but he is fighting Matilda’s husband, Geoffrey Plantagenet, in Normandy. Then there are the Scots, who are just biding their time before they strike again. Add to all this the fact that he cannot count on the loyalty of most of his nobles.”

A sharp line formed between Hugh’s straight black brows. “If the situation is, as you say, impossible,” he said, “then why do you think Stephen will win?”

“Because Gloucester has no support outside the west.”

Hugh was silent.

“You know all of this,” Cristen said. “What I think you may not realize is how valuable you could be to Stephen.”

“I know it,” Hugh said grimly. “But does Stephen?”

The Bail was busy with fairgoers shopping at the market stalls. Hugh and Cristen stopped once more, before they were swallowed up by the crowd, to finish their conversation.

“What I think is this,” Cristen said. “Stephen would be very happy to see you make a marriage that does not increase the power of the de Leons.”

“That is certainly true, but if he approved our marriage, he would alienate Guy.”

“If Stephen has you, he has a lever against Guy. Guy would know that if he went over to Gloucester, Stephen would name you earl in his place.”

Screams of delight came from two small boys chasing each other through the crowd, to the obvious annoyance of the people around them.

“We would be taking a chance,” Hugh said slowly. “If Stephen does not approve our marriage, we might find ourselves irrevocably separated, whereas if we take matters into our own hands and run away, there will be nothing anyone can do about it.”

One of the boys exploded out of the crowd and came careening into Hugh. Hugh lifted him off the ground so he could look him in the face. “No more running,” he said. “Go and find your mothers, the both of you.”

His voice was perfectly pleasant. He put the child back on his feet and the boy stared up at him out of wide dark eyes before he gulped, “Yes, sir.”

Cristen was not at all surprised when the boy began to walk quietly back toward the market stalls.

“If we run away, Guy will disown you,” she said. “And, since we will have married in defiance of Stephen as well, the king will denounce you also.”

Some people were making their way to the Bail gate, their arms filled with purchases, while others pressed forward to have their turn.

Hugh said, “I will still have my manors from Ralf. The king won’t bother to take those away from me.”

“I don’t want you to rust away on three little manors in Lincolnshire!” Cristen cried passionately. “You were made for greater things than that.”

He said stubbornly, “I was made to be with you.”

She touched his sleeve. “I know, Hugh,” she said. “But I want you to have both.”

Once more, his brows drew together.

“Will you at least think about it?”

Silence.

Then, “I will think about it.”

“Good.”

They began to walk toward the crowd.

“It would be a way of securing your reputation, too,” he said. “If we run away, there will be a scandal.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“Perhaps you don’t,” Hugh said. “But I do.”

Richard had invited his squire to accompany him to the fair Monday morning, and Alan was having a wonderful time. They went by the livestock market first, which was filled with the animals that farmers had brought into Lincoln to sell. Most of the beasts were end-of-winter thin, but it was a good time to purchase livestock because the grass would be coming in shortly and the new owner would have the benefit of a whole spring and summer of free grazing.

The streets around the livestock market were filled with stalls, some permanent structures in the front of people’s homes and some temporary for the two days of the fair. As they walked along the Strait, Alan and Richard passed by enticing displays of fresh fish, butcher’s meat, honey, salt, oil, butter, and cheese. The two men passed next into the Drapery, where the cloth merchants had their displays. There were also stalls offering woad and other dyes for sale.

They cut through one of the small streets that connected the Drapery to the Patchmingate and passed by stalls surrounded by peasants poring over knives for pruning vines, sickles for cutting corn, and spades for digging.

As Alan and his lord moved about the streets of Lincoln, the townspeople acknowledged Richard with such respectful admiration that Alan felt himself honored simply to be seen in the company of such a man.

After walking down the Patchmingate, they returned to the Strait and stopped at the silversmith’s. Even inside the shop, Richard attracted admirers, and while Alan waited for him to free himself from the man who had engaged him in conversation, he admired the wares on display. To his delight, once Richard had finished his conversation, he bought Alan a small, elegant silver-hilted dagger.

They left the silversmith’s and continued up the Strait, then turned down the Danesgate until they reached the area between the Danesgate and the Bail wall where most of the games had been set up.

They stood for a while watching the stoolball with enjoyment. This was a sport where women perched on milking stools and tried to avoid being struck by balls which were bowled by men. A particularly pretty girl with long golden braids took her place on one of the stools, and Richard stepped forward and bowled a ball that caught her neatly on the foot. Accompanied by cheers from the onlookers, Richard claimed his prize of a kiss from the blushing maiden.

“I don’t think she even tried to get out of the way of that ball,” Alan said accusingly as they walked through the laughing crowd toward the next game.

“Now, why would you think that?” Richard returned, with a wicked glint in his eyes.

The next game they came to was the quoits, where men threw horseshoes at a stake in the ground. Points counted only if you landed your horseshoe with the stake in the middle. Records were kept of the scores throughout the day, and winners would be announced at the end of the fair.

“How are you at quoits, Alan?” Richard asked amiably. “Want to try a set?”

Alan agreed eagerly. He had often played quoits at home with his brothers and he knew he was good at them.

He took a set of horseshoes from William Henry, Lincoln’s master carpenter, and stood at the marked-off distance, concentrating on the stake some fifteen feet away from him. He wanted very badly to impress Richard with his skill.

He inhaled deeply, then let fly the first horseshoe, which sailed through the air and came to rest with its top leaning against the stake.

Alan tried not to let his disappointment show.

“Very close,” Richard said admiringly. “Try again.”

The second time the shoe hooked the stake and settled around it with a satisfying thud. Alan couldn’t control his grin. A group of young girls had stopped to watch, and their cheers made his fair skin flush.

Two of the next three horseshoes hit their mark as well.

“Very good, Alan,” William Henry said. “As of now, you are tied for the lead.”

“I’ll come back later and try again,” Alan said, and he and Richard walked on.

At a little distance from the rest of the games, several archery butts had been set up along the city walls. A group of men, knights from the castle and men from the town, were waiting in line to compete. A crowd had gathered to watch, and Richard and Alan joined them.

One of the younger knights, a man Alan knew to be one of Richard’s group of friends, called, “Hallo, Sir Richard. Come and have a go at the butts.”

Richard flashed his most beguiling smile. “Nay, Theobold, not today.”

“Come on, Sir Richard,” Theobold Elton urged. “Just shoot a few arrows for us.”

Still smiling, Richard shook his head.

He doesn’t want to show the men up, Alan thought admiringly.

At that moment, two more people joined the crowd around the archery butts.

“Hugh!” one of the men in line called happily. “You’ll shoot for us, won’t you?”

Beside him, Alan felt Richard stiffen.

Alan looked in the direction of Richard’s stare and saw Hugh standing at the edge of the crowd. Lady Cristen was with him.

“What’s the matter, Matt?” Hugh called back. ”Can’t you draw your own bow?”

The crowd and the men in line hooted with laughter.

Richard said, “I’ll shoot if you will, Hugh.” Something in Richard’s voice made Alan stare at him.

“A friendly match?” Hugh said mockingly. But he began to walk forward, and the crowd parted to let him through.

“Why not?” Richard said with a brilliant smile.

At Hugh’s side, Lady Cristen looked worried.

“Why not indeed?” Hugh said. “You go first.”

Richard walked calmly to the line of men, who had fallen strangely silent, and put out his hand for the bow the archers were using. He turned to face the butt, put his foot on the mark, raised the bow, and pulled effortlessly on stave and string until it was in a position of full draw. He paused a moment, sighting the target, then he let the arrow fly.

It landed exactly in the center of the small painted circle in the middle of the butt.

Relief surged through Alan. He could not have borne it if Richard had lost to Hugh.

A murmur of appreciation came from the watchers.

“Very good,” Hugh said admiringly. “You shoot eight first, then I’ll shoot eight.”

“Very well,” Richard agreed, and put his hand out for another arrow. “You had better take that arrow out so there is a space for my next one,” he said.

To Alan’s profound satisfaction, all of Richard’s shots landed inside the center circle, and six of them were dead in the middle.

Then it was Hugh’s turn.

He took the bow from Richard with careless grace. Richard was half a head taller, and a casual onlooker would not have thought that the slender Hugh stood a chance against the other man’s obvious strength and skill. Alan, who had seen Hugh shoot before, was not fooled.

At least it will be a tie, he thought.

He knew, without thinking how he knew, that Richard would hate it if Hugh beat him.

Hugh raised the bow and, without pausing at all, let the arrow fly. It buried itself in the thin line that formed the outside circle of the butt.

A sigh of disappointment ran through the crowd.

Richard said gently, “Your hand must have slipped. We won’t count that one. Try again.”

He is so honorable, Alan thought. Richard wanted to win this contest, yet he would not take advantage of his opponent’s bad luck.

Hugh didn’t reply. He just raised the bow again and fitted another arrow. This one buried itself in the thin line directly opposite to the first.

The crowd stirred with interest.

Hugh shot his third arrow, which quartered the circle. Then the next and the next and the next, until the entire circle was pinned with arrows.

The painted line into which Hugh had shot was an eighth of an inch wide.

“This is a nice bow, Edwin,” Hugh said as he handed it back. “Whom does it belong to?”

“It is one of the castle bows, my lord,” Edwin replied. “The sheriff loaned us a few of them for the day.”

Hugh said, “I’ll buy a drink for anyone who can hit that line.”

The men whooped with delight.

It had been deliberately done, Alan realized. Richard, who had shot brilliantly, was quite forgotten as the men concentrated on Hugh’s challenge.

Across the crowd, Alan’s eyes met Lady Cristen’s gaze. She looked resigned.

Beside him, Richard stood in silence. Alan did not know what to say.

“Shall we move along to watch the wrestling?” Richard suggested at last.

“Aye, my lord,” Alan responded eagerly, relieved that Richard’s voice sounded so normal. The look on Richard’s face was pinched and sallow, however, as Alan glanced up at him.

Richard was clearly furious, and Alan did not blame him one little bit.

“Was it necessary to shoot against Richard?” Cristen asked in an astringent tone as she and Hugh walked down the Danesgate in the direction of the Strait.

Hugh had not had to take any of the men for a drink, as none of them had managed to pin the line with an arrow.

“Perhaps it wasn’t necessary,” Hugh admitted. He grinned. “But it was fun.”

Cristen started to say something, then stopped in surprise as Hugh’s hand came up to cover her mouth.

“Don’t say it,” he said.

Say what? she asked him with her eyes.

“Men,” he returned in a disgusted tone, and rolled his eyes.

Behind his hand she smiled.

They continued on until they reached the Strait, where they turned north and began to walk in the direction of the Patchmingate.

“Do you know what I have been thinking?” Hugh asked.

“I always know what you are thinking.”

He stared down at her. “Always?”

She replied imperturbably, “Well, I always know what you are thinking when you are thinking what you are thinking right now.”

Hugh grinned.

That is two smiles in two minutes, Cristen thought with satisfaction.

They passed a family of parents and five children, all dressed in their fair-going best. The children were so excited, they looked as if they might explode.

Hugh said, “Well, what am I thinking then, Madam Mindreader?”

The elusive dimple in her cheek flickered. “You are thinking that we are so close to Ralf’s house that it would be a shame not to stop in.”

He shouted with laughter.

Cristen continued, “And I am thinking that you are right.”

He sobered instantly, and the line of his mouth grew grim.

“God, Cristen. I hate having to sneak around with you like this.”

“I know you do, Hugh,” she said gently.

They turned into the Patchmingate and walked in silence past the shoemaker’s shop.

Then Hugh said slowly, “I think I know who killed de Beauté. I just don’t know if I can prove it.”

She bent her head, exposing to him the delicate nape of her neck.

“Do you know the reason for the murder?” she asked.

He didn’t answer, and she lifted her head. Their eyes met.

“I think so,” he said.

Very briefly, she rested her head against his arm.