The Poisoned Serpent

22

Cristen was waiting at Ralf’s house when Hugh and Alan and the children rode up. After a flurry of introductions, Hugh left Nicholas and Iseult to her competent care and rode back to the castle to make arrangements to have Lady Rye’s body brought into Lincoln. She would be buried from the Minster along with her husband.

Cristen took one look at the shocked, exhausted children Hugh had turned over to her and immediately sat them down for a meal of hot soup and bread. Alan wondered how long it had been since last they ate. He joined them at the table, and approved of the way Cristen allowed the children to eat in silence while she and Alan talked together of ordinary things.

She even put a bowl of food on the floor so that Benjamin could join in the repast. The huge mastiff slurped noisily right behind Nicholas and Iseult, and Alan sensed that the presence of their dog was a comfort to the bereaved children.

“What would you like to do next?” Cristen said to the children after they had hungrily finished second helpings of the soup.

Two pairs of blue eyes gazed at her with dazed bewilderment.

“Where is Hugh?” Iseult whispered at last.

“He has gone to the castle to see about having your mother’s body brought to Lincoln,” Cristen said practically.

Both children continued to gaze at her. Neither said a word.

Cristen leaned comfortably back in her chair and said conversationally, “Did you know that Hugh’s foster father used to be the Sheriff of Lincoln? Hugh grew up in this very house we are sitting in now.”

“I didn’t know he grew up in Lincoln,” Nicholas said, showing the first spark of interest Alan had seen in him. “My father said he came from Wiltshire, that he was to be the next earl there.”

Iseult sat up more alertly in her chair as well. Alan thought that Hugh seemed to be the one topic capable of rousing the children’s attention.

Cristen craftily fed them more information. “Hugh’s real father was the Earl of Wiltshire, but when he was very young, about your age, Nicholas, he was stolen away from his home by robbers. He managed to get away from them and make his way to Lincoln, where he was found by Ralf Corbaille, the sheriff. But the shock of being kidnapped caused Hugh to forget his past, and he was unable to tell the sheriff anything about himself. So Ralf adopted Hugh and brought him up right here in Lincoln as his own son.”

Both children were gazing at Cristen with their eyes stretched wide and their mouths open.

“Hugh was kidnapped?” Iseult said in a hushed tone.

“Aye.” Cristen’s own eyes were steady and honest. “It was a terrible thing that happened to him. But he was lucky enough to find a new family who loved him very much. And he loved them-even more than he loved his first family, I think.”

The children continued to stare at Cristen, faces grave, eyes solemn. Alan waited cynically for her to tell them that the same happy fate awaited them.

“So you see,” she said, “Hugh knows how you must be feeling right now. A terrible thing has happened to you as well. But he will help you. And so will I.”

Nicholas blinked. Then he nodded slowly.

Benjamin belched loudly.

Iseult giggled.

“I am so glad you brought your dog,” Cristen said. “I have been missing my own dogs very much. A house without a dog is such an empty place.”

“What kind of dogs do you have, Lady Cristen?” Iseult asked curiously.

“I’m afraid that neither one of them is as handsome as Benjamin,” Cristen said, “but I love them dearly.” And she launched into a detailed description of her dogs and how she had rescued each of them from abandonment. The children listened with rapt attention.

“Now then,” Cristen said when she had finished the saga of her beloved animals, “we must decide what to do next. You can have a bath and put on clean clothes and then, if you are tired, you can have a nap and wait for Hugh to come home. Or, if you like, we can go up to the castle ourselves and find him.”

“Find Hugh,” both children replied in unison.

“Right away,” Nicholas added.

“All right,” Cristen said briskly. “Then that is what we will do.”

Alan looked at the bedraggled children. Nicholas had smudges of ash on his face, probably from rubbing it after trying to fix the fire. And Iseult’s long hair was more a tangle than a braid.

“Perhaps a bath would be in order first?” he suggested.

Nicholas frowned.

“Nay,” Iseult said stubbornly. “Find Hugh first.”

“Baths can come later,” Cristen agreed. “If you have finished eating, we will go up to the castle and look for Hugh.”

Cristen made sure the children were warmly dressed, and they left the house on foot to walk to the castle through the streets of Lincoln, where just yesterday their father had been killed.

Until now, John Rye’s death had seemed an unfortunate but insignificant event to Alan-an unlucky accident that had marred the otherwise splendid camp-ball game. But now, as he looked down at the tangle of black hair on Iseult’s small round head, he saw it for what it really was: a tragedy.

Every human life touches someone else’s, he thought. John Rye might have been unimportant in the worldly scheme of things, but his death has changed his children’s lives irreparably.

What were these children going to do? Alan worried. Surely, there had to be some surviving relative somewhere who would take them in. Even if they had no aunts or uncles, their parents must have had cousins who would care for them.

Unfortunately, Nicholas and Iseult were that most expendible of commodities: well-born children who had no fortune. The only feasible future for Nicholas was to earn his living as a knight in some lord’s household. And Iseult, if no one could be found to marry her, would end up in a convent, if one could be found to accept a girl with no dowry.

To Alan, the idea of having no relatives was utterly terrifying. He had always known that as a younger son he would have to support himself by his sword. He had known when he left his father’s home to serve as squire to Richard Canville that he probably wouldn’t be going back there to live ever again.

But still, his mother and father and eldest brother were there. If the worse ever came to the worst, and he had nowhere to go, they would take him in.

Nicholas and Iseult did not have that security. Until a relative could be found, Nicholas and Iseult had only Hugh.

Alan had to acknowledge that it had been kind of Hugh to take the children in. He had understood that it was important for them to be in a home with someone they knew and trusted. They would have panicked if they had been thrust into a convent.

As their small party entered into the Bail, Nicholas’s gaze was fixed on the towering heights of the castle rising above them. Alan smiled, remembering his own awe the first time he beheld Lincoln Castle.

“It’s bigger than I thought it would be,” Nicholas said in a low voice.

“It is one of the biggest castles in the kingdom,” Alan responded.

“My father served his knight’s fee here every January,” Nicholas said, a note of pride in his voice.

Iseult whimpered. “I’m tired. When are we going to find Hugh?”

Cristen glanced at Alan, who immediately bent and scooped the little girl up in his arms. “We’ll find him very soon,” he said bracingly. “I’ll carry you for a little, shall I?”

She put one small arm around his neck. “Thank you, Alan.”

Her little body rested against him so trustingly. Alan smiled into the small face so close to his. “You’re a very brave little girl, Iseult. Do you know that?”

A dimple flashed in her cheek. “I am?”

“Aye. You are.”

“I like you, Alan,” Iseult said. “You’re nice.”

Alan felt absurdly pleased by the compliment.

When finally they reached the castle, it was to discover that Hugh was with Bernard. Even though Bernard was much better, Cristen refused to allow the children to go into the sickroom. Instead, she took them upstairs to Lady Elizabeth’s apartment and sent Alan to inform Hugh where they were.

“John Rye was killed by the same man who killed de Beauté. I’m sure of it.”

Alan heard Hugh’s voice as soon as he opened the door to Cristen’s bedchamber. Hugh was speaking softly, but with such clarity that Alan couldn’t mistake his words.

Next there came the rumble of Bernard’s deeper, less-clear baritone.

Alan stopped as if he had walked into glass. After a moment, he quietly closed the door behind him. Moving on silent feet to the partially open door that led into Bernard’s room, he took up a position that was out of view and prepared to listen.

Hugh’s voice was even clearer this close up. Alan listened as he told Bernard, “I think that John Rye had dangerous information about the earl’s murder and he tried to use it to extort money from someone. Instead of paying up, however, the man killed Rye. If it was the same man who killed de Beauté-and I think it was-he wouldn’t hesitate at another murder. He got rid of the man he sent to deliver his message to the earl fast enough.”

“You may very well be right,” Bernard replied. From this closer vantage point, Alan could hear the man’s deep voice more clearly. “John Rye tried to get William of Roumare to pay for his information and was unsuccessful. It would only be natural for him to turn next to the actual man who did the deed.”

“So I think,” said Hugh tersely.

Bernard began to cough. Alan heard movement in the room and the sound of water being poured. Hugh must be offering Bernard a drink, he thought. Finally, when Bernard had recovered his breath, he said, “Well, your first suspicion appears to have been the right one. William of Roumare was behind the death of de Beauté all along.”

This comment was met by silence. Alan’s brain was in a whirl as he tried to understand this sudden introduction of William of Roumare into the picture. He frowned in concentration as he tried to sort out what he was hearing, so that he could relay it correctly to Richard.

Finally Hugh said, “If Roumare was involved, Bernard, then why didn’t he buy off Rye?”

“Exactly what information do you think Rye offered him?” Bernard countered.

“John Rye was in the castle serving out his knight’s fee at the time of the murder. I am guessing that he saw who gave the groom the message that summoned you to the Minster. After the groom turned up murdered as well, Rye must have realized that he had a valuable piece of information. That is when he left Lincoln with the excuse that his wife was ill and went to visit his cousin, Roumare.”

Alan was concentrating so intently on the conversation in Bernard’s room that he scarcely remembered to breathe. But why would William of Roumare want to kill the Earl of Lincoln? he thought in confusion.

“It seems to me that if Roumare was indeed involved in the earl’s murder,” Hugh went on, “he would have bought off John Rye. Instead, he turned him away.”

Bernard replied matter-of-factly, “He turned him away because he knew there was nothing concrete that could connect the murderer to him. There can be little doubt that Roumare was the one who paid the assassin, but I will wager you that he did it in such a way that he would not be implicated. That is why he would not bribe Rye to keep quiet.”

“That could be what happened,” Hugh conceded, but he did not sound convinced.

“It must be what happened,” Bernard said firmly. “Roumare is the only man with sufficient motive to want de Beauté dead. The whole kingdom knows he wants to be the Earl of Lincoln, and now that de Beauté is dead, he probably will be.”

So that is it, Alan thought, enlightened. It made sense, he thought, mulling this new information over in his mind. Roumare was a much more likely culprit in the earl’s death than was Bernard Radvers, who had gained nothing by the death of de Beauté.

“Unfortunately, I have no proof of any of this,” Hugh was saying grimly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Bernard replied. “We have only to bring forth before the chief justiciar the information you learned from Rye, and establish the possibility that Rye may have been murdered by the same man who killed the earl. That information will save me, Hugh. I was under arrest when John Rye was killed.”

“I suppose,” Hugh said discontentedly.

Bernard grunted as he shifted in the bed. “Don’t look so gloomy, lad! You’ve done what you promised. You’ve saved my life. I should think you would be rejoicing.”

“I will rejoice when you are declared innocent,” Hugh returned.

Suddenly his voice sounded much closer. Alan flattened himself against the wall, afraid that Hugh had moved nearer to the doorway. “I would feel happier if I could be certain that these murders really were connected to Roumare,” Hugh confessed. “As it is…I simply am not convinced.”

“If? What do you mean, if?” Bernard sounded oddly angry. “Who else besides Roumare could possibly have benefited from the death of the earl?”

Hugh didn’t reply.

“Hugh.” Bernard’s voice was sharp and worried. “Please don’t tell me you are still trying to fix the blame on Richard Canville!”

Alan felt as if someone had punched him hard in the stomach. His fists clenched at his sides, and his nostrils widened as he sucked in air.

Richard? he thought. How could anyone, even Hugh, possibly suspect Richard?

“I haven’t eliminated him,” Hugh said. His voice seemed to come from right next to the door.

Bernard raised his voice as if talking to someone across the room from him. “If you try to cast suspicion on Richard, you will make yourself a laughingstock. I know you don’t like Richard. Perhaps you even have cause for not liking Richard. Perhaps Richard is not quite as perfect as everyone thinks he is. But he is not a murderer, Hugh! For God’s sake, what reason would he have to murder the Earl of Lincoln?”

“Do you remember that I told you Edgar Harding came to me and accused the sheriff of embezzling from the market stall rents?”

“Aye, I remember.” Bernard sounded cautious.

“Well, I have proof that Harding was right.”

A heavy silence was Bernard’s only reply.

Alan’s teeth bit into his lower lip until they drew blood.

Hugh went on relentlessly. “The sheriff is collecting more money from the market stalls than he declares on the tax rolls. I talked to the shopkeepers and found out that they are in fact paying considerably more than what Gervase told me.”

More silence from Bernard.

Alan felt sick to his stomach.

At last Bernard said heavily, “If that is so, he will not be the first sheriff to do such a thing. But I am surprised. And disappointed. I thought better of Gervase.”

“Think of this,” Hugh said. “Perhaps it is not Gervase who is behind the scheme. Perhaps it is Richard.”

Alan didn’t know if he wanted to run into Bernard’s room and scream denials at Hugh, or just run away.

“Why do you say that?” Bernard asked.

“The man who collects the stall rent is Theobold Elton, and he seems to be a good friend of Richard’s. Richard also appears to have a good deal more money than I would expect him to have. He keeps a squire. He has a very expensive horse. And Alan told me he found Richard in the sheriff’s office late one night, going over the tax books.”

Alan remembered that meeting. He remembered how upset Richard had seemed at the unexpected appearance of his squire. He shut his eyes and shook his head in vigorous denial.

“What are you suggesting, then?” Bernard said grimly. “That the earl discovered the cheat and threatened to expose it and so Richard killed him?”

“Aye.” Hugh’s voice seemed to come from Bernard’s bedside once again.

“And just how would the earl discover the cheat?” Bernard demanded. “I am quite sure he didn’t go around asking the merchants how much rent they paid for their stalls!”

“I don’t know how he discovered it,” Hugh replied steadily. “But it is entirely possible that he did. The word was that he and Gervase were not on good terms. Perhaps this was one of the reasons for their falling-out.”

There was silence in Bernard’s room. Alan looked longingly at the door leading from Cristen’s room into the passageway. He should leave while there was still a chance he would not be discovered eavesdropping.

But he couldn’t seem to tear himself away.

Bernard broke the silence. “What of Edgar Harding, Hugh? He certainly hated de Beauté. And he had that piece of information about the single stab wound to the heart that killed the earl. Perhaps Harding himself was the murderer and then he told you this information about the market stall cheat just to throw suspicion on someone else.”

Alan remembered that he had unexpectedly met Edgar Harding the morning after the murder, and his heart jumped.

“I suppose it is possible,” Hugh said, “but Edgar Harding has people who will swear that he was at Deerhurst on the night the earl was killed.”

“Are these people to be believed?”

“I don’t know,” Hugh replied frankly. “But Harding also appears to have a defense for the day that John Rye was killed. His son told me that his father was at home, ill, in bed, and being attended to by his wife and daughters.”

“Hmm.”

There came the sound of a stool being pulled across the wood floor. Hugh must be sitting down, Alan thought.

“On the other hand,” Hugh said, “Cedric Harding was here in Lincoln on Wednesday. In fact, he was the man who discovered that Rye had been murdered.”

There was a little silence as Bernard digested this piece of information. Then he replied, “Why would Harding’s son want to kill the earl?”

Hugh sighed. “Edgar appears to have passed all of his extreme prejudices down to his offspring. Cedric hates all Normans, and in particular, he hates the Norman who robbed the Hardings of their land. Perhaps he was the man whom Rye saw talking to the groom that night.”

“That’s pretty far-fetched,” Bernard said.

“Aye,” Hugh agreed readily. “It is.”

“The fact of the matter is, all of this is speculation. You have no proof of anything,” Bernard said.

“I know that, Bernard,” Hugh replied irritably.

“Then our best hope is to cast doubt upon the sheriff’s case against me. I think your testimony about what John Rye told you will do that quite satisfactorily.”

Hugh didn’t reply.

Alan, realizing that he had heard all that was going to be said, decided that it was time to leave. He had actually taken a step when Hugh came into the room through the connecting door. He looked Alan up and down and said pleasantly, “What an interesting time you must have had, Alan. Do you have any comments you would care to add to the conversation?”

Alan’s cheeks and ears were scarlet as he made his way down the tower steps, Hugh’s last contemptuous words ringing in his ears. Now, run away like a good little spy and report everything you heard back to Richard.

Of course, it had been Alan’s intention to do just that, but something in the way Hugh had regarded him made him feel uncomfortable.

He called me a spy and he was right, Alan thought shamefacedly. I am someone who listens to other people’s private conversations and reports them back to someone else.

It was the first time it had occurred to Alan that what he was doing might not be considered honorable. He had never looked at it that way before. Why?

Because Richard asked me to do it.

The answer was immediate. If Richard, his idol, his perfect model of a knight, had told him to do it, then it must be all right.

But Hugh had made Alan feel besmirched. Dirty. Like a spy. What would Hugh think of him if he knew that Alan had listened to his conversation with Cristen? Alan shuddered at the thought.

He tried to work up some anger against Hugh for treating him so contemptuously, but it was difficult. It was too easy for Alan to see the situation from Hugh’s point of view. He couldn’t find it in himself to blame Hugh for being angry.

Richard shouldn’t have asked me to spy for him, Alan thought soberly. It wasn’t right.

It was the first time in his life that he had ever had a critical thought about his lord.

As the sound of Alan’s footsteps died away, Bernard looked from where he was lying propped against his pillows toward the young man standing by the single small window in the tower bedroom. “For how long did you know that he was there?” he asked.

“I heard him come in,” Hugh replied. He turned toward Bernard, one of his hands resting, fingers spread out, on the stone windowsill.

“How did you know that it was Alan?”

“I knew it was Alan when he stopped to listen. Richard has been using him to spy on me.”

Bernard frowned in bewilderment. “Then why didn’t you accost him immediately?”

“Because I have a feeling that Alan knows things that could be very helpful to us,” Hugh replied. “I wanted to see if I could shake his faith in Richard a little.”

Bernard shook his head in a decisive negative. “You can’t. Alan worships Richard.”

“I know he does. But Alan is a bright youngster. Even more important, he has a sense of honor. Once his eyes have been opened, I think he will begin to see things as they really are, not as Richard has made them seem.”

Bernard pushed himself until he was sitting upright in the bed. “For God’s sake, Hugh, why do you dislike Richard so intensely? It is not like you to bear such bitter enmity over a childhood rivalry.”

Hugh turned his back on Bernard and looked out the tower window. He said nothing.

Behind him, Bernard persisted. “There has to be some reason. I know he used to bully you when you were young, but as you grew, you more than got your own back on him. So why?”

Hugh stared down at the small group of men-at-arms who were walking from the keep walls to the castle. Still facing the window, he said, “I never told this story to anyone but Ralf.” He turned to face the man in the bed. “I am only telling you now because it bears on your own situation.”

Bernard said, “You know I can keep a quiet tongue in my head, lad.”

Speaking in an ordinary, matter-of-fact voice, Hugh said, “I saw Richard murder his brother.”

Bernard’s mouth dropped open in shock. He stared at Hugh, his bushy eyebrows twin marks of astonishment, and didn’t say a word.

“I was there,” Hugh repeated. “I saw it happen.”

Bernard closed his mouth and found his voice. “What happened? And why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Hugh’s face was bleak as he replied, “Because no one would have believed me.”

Bernard leaned back against his pillows, suddenly looking very tired. “Tell me.”

Hugh stared down at his linked hands as if they held the answer to Bernard’s question. He began to speak in a carefully expressionless voice.

“As you know, Simon was Gervase’s eldest son and, as is customary, he remained at home while Richard was sent to the Minster school in Lincoln.” Hugh opened his hands and then linked them together again. “About once a month, Simon used to come into Lincoln to visit Richard. He was a nice boy, Simon. A kind boy. He loved his brother.”

Hugh fell abruptly silent.

“I remember Simon,” Bernard said encouragingly. “He was a nice boy. He was only fourteen when he died, I believe. He drowned in the Witham, I remember.”

Hugh looked up. “Aye. There had been a lot of rain that spring, and the river was running very high. Simon and Richard took a boat out, the boat capsized, and Simon drowned.”

Bernard frowned as he cast his mind back to the past. “Richard tried to save his brother, Hugh. I remember that someone told me he himself nearly drowned, diving over and over trying to recover Simon’s body.”

“That is what most people think,” Hugh agreed.

Bernard’s pale blue eyes narrowed as he remembered something else. “Didn’t you go to Richard’s assistance? I seem to remember that you helped him recover the body.”

“I was there all right,” Hugh replied somberly. “I was there from the beginning.”

Once more, Bernard said, “Tell me.”

There was a white line around Hugh’s mouth but his voice was perfectly steady as he related his story.

“I was by myself, fishing along the shore, when I saw Simon and Richard’s boat come around a bend in the river. They didn’t see me, however. I was fishing under those big willows that lean into the water about a quarter mile above the mill.”

Bernard nodded to indicate that he recognized the place.

“The water was deep out in the middle where the boat was. I was holding my line, watching the boat casually, when I saw Richard suddenly lean over, raise his hand, and strike Simon over the head. Simon crumpled and Richard shoved him so that he went over the side of the boat and into the water. Then Richard threw whatever it was that he had hit Simon with into the water after him.”

“My God,” Bernard said. The words were barely a breath of sound.

The white line around Hugh’s mouth became even more pronounced. “I dropped my pole and ran along the shore to an open place where the willows did not hide me, and I shouted to Richard. That was when he began to pretend to look for Simon. He yelled to me to help him, and jumped out of the boat and began to dive. I swam out and dove as well. We both stayed in the water until another boat arrived and made us stop. Richard told everyone that Simon had stood up in the boat, tripped, and hit his head on the edge of the boat as he went into the water.”

“You didn’t tell Richard that you had seen what happened?”

Hugh shook his head. “I wanted to talk to Ralf first.”

“And what did Ralf say?”

Hugh’s gray eyes darkened noticably. “I don’t think he believed me. He told me to keep what I had seen to myself, that I had no proof and it would be just my word against Richard’s. He said…he said that I was an unknown quantity, while everyone knew Richard and his family and that it would probably go ill for me if I accused him.”

“Ralf didn’t say that he didn’t believe you!” Bernard interrupted.

Hugh shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “Not in so many words, but why else would he tell me to hold my tongue? I knew that if Ralf didn’t believe me, no one would, and so I did hold it. But I have always known what Richard is.”

“How old were you when this happened?” Bernard demanded.

“I was eleven and Richard was twelve.”

“Dear God,” Bernard said again.

Hugh’s gray eyes regarded him somberly. “Do you believe me, Bernard?”

“Aye, I believe you,” Bernard replied. “And I’ll tell you something else, Hugh. Ralf believed you as well. If he pretended to doubt you, it was to ensure your silence. He was right. If you had accused Richard of such a thing, you would have been crucified.”

“And if I accuse Richard of this murder, will the same thing happen?”

“You are not a foundling any longer, Hugh, but everyone in Lincoln knows how much you dislike Richard. You certainly never tried to make any secret of it.”

Hugh lifted one straight black brow in a gesture of irony. “Unwise of me, wasn’t it?”

“Well, you must admit, it doesn’t put you in a very good position to accuse him of anything,” Bernard returned. “Especially if you have no proof.”

Hugh said gloomily, “That is what Cristen says.”

Bernard’s chin came up sharply. “I thought the only person you told about this was Ralf.”

Hugh looked at him in genuine bewilderment. “But of course I told Cristen.”

Bernard stared at Hugh’s face, and after a moment his mouth softened. “She is a wonderful girl. You are lucky to have found her.”

Matter-of-factly, Hugh nodded. Then, “I think Richard murdered the earl, Bernard. Who better to deliver a supposed message from Gervase than Gervase’s own son? No one would doubt Richard.”

Bernard coughed a few times. “And you think he did it to protect himself from being found out as an embezzler?”

Hugh began to walk toward the bed. “Aye.”

Bernard sighed and leaned his head back against his pillows. “Perhaps you are right, lad. But you will never convince the chief justiciar unless you have some proof.”

“I have proof of the embezzlement. All I have to do is call one of the merchants to testify about how much rent he pays.”

“But you have no proof that ties Richard to the murder.”

“I know that,” Hugh replied evenly. “That is why I let Alan overhear our conversation. I have a feeling that Alan is the person who has the proof we need, if only he can be brought to understand.”

Bernard did not reply.

“I’ve exhausted you,” Hugh said contritely, looking down into the older man’s pale face. “Cristen would be furious with me if she could see you now.”

“Nonsense,” Bernard said gruffly. “I am perfectly fine. I plan to get out of this bed tomorrow.”

“Well, I’ll leave you now so you can get some sleep.”

As Hugh was turning away, Bernard reached out a hand to catch his sleeve.

“Be careful, lad. If Richard is what you think he is, he won’t blink at ridding himself of you if he feels you are a danger to him.”

“Don’t worry,” Hugh replied grimly. “I don’t underestimate Richard.”

On that note, he walked out of the room, leaving a sleepless Bernard to worry about all that he had heard.