The Poisoned Serpent (17 page)

“Well then,” Cristen said, “that is that.”

“Aye. It is the kind of defense that is almost impossible to break. But if Saxon betrothal feasts are anything like Norman betrothal feasts, everyone in that hall was stinking drunk by the time dark fell. It would have been easy for either Harding or his son to slip away and ride into Lincoln without anyone knowing they had gone.”

“His son?” Cristen repeated in surprise.

“Aye. Cedric Harding appears to be a formidable young man, and he hated de Beauté fully as much as his father did.”

Cristen said curiously, “Do you really suspect the Hardings of this murder, Hugh?”

Hugh was silent. At last he said slowly, “I don’t know. In truth, I think the Roumare connection is more likely. This was not a murder done in the anger of the moment. This was a murder that was planned.” Hugh’s voice became fainter as he turned away from the door, but his diction was so clear that Alan had no trouble hearing him. “The question that keeps coming back to me is, who benefits the most from de Beauté’s death? The Hardings don’t benefit. Stephen is not likely to return their land to them because de Beauté is dead. I can see either Edgar or Cedric Harding killing de Beauté in a fit of anger, but to plan it out in such cold blood…I don’t know if revenge could be that important, even to a Saxon.”

“You think Roumare benefits the most from Lord Gilbert’s death?” Cristen asked.

“Aye. It is almost certain that he will be made the next earl, and that is an honor he covets.”

“I think you may be right,” Cristen said, “but what I don’t see, Hugh, is how you are going to prove it.”

“I have to prove it,” Hugh said. “If I don’t, Bernard will hang. And neither Ralf nor Adela would like that.”

Alan jumped as the man in the bed made a sudden, restless movement.

I’d better get out of here
, he thought. Silently he melted through the door back out onto the landing. Then he walked to the second door on the landing and knocked. It was opened by Hugh.

“The sheriff’s office was locked,” Alan said, avoiding Hugh’s eyes. “I shall have to return the chess set in the morning.”

He went to put the game back upon the stool where it had sat earlier. Cristen was not visible and the door to Bernard’s room was open wider than it had been before. Alan glanced in and saw her standing by the bed. She held a cup of something in her hand.

“Hugh,” she called. “Come and help me, please.”

Hugh went immediately to join her by the bed. As Alan watched from the door, he supported Bernard’s head as Cristen got him to drink whatever it was in her cup.

After Hugh had lowered Bernard back to his pillow, they stood together over the sick man and Hugh slipped his arm around Cristen. She leaned her head against his shoulder and for a brief moment, his dark head bent so that his cheek rested against her hair.

Alan turned away from the door and went to stare out the tower window into the blackness below.

Hugh sounded like a completely different person when he talked to Lady Cristen. He actually sounded like someone Alan could like.

That is a pointless conclusion
, Alan scolded himself. Hugh was clearly Richard’s enemy, and in any contest between the two men, Alan knew whose side he would be on.

F
rom the lowest to the highest, the citizens of Lincoln were preoccupied with the upcoming Saint Agatha’s Fair, a town event that always took place the week before the start of Lent. With the specter of a murder trial hanging over the city, however, the townsfolk had worried that this year their fair would be canceled.

In fact, if the king’s chief justiciar had arrived in time to convene the trial before the fair was scheduled to open, Gervase would have called it off. But Lord Richard Basset appeared to be dragging his feet getting to Lincoln, and under such circumstances the sheriff decided that the fair could go forward.

Saint Agatha’s was a purely local gathering, in no way resembling the great international fairs of England and France. No Italian goldsmiths or Flemish clothmakers would make an appearance in Lincoln. The event was actually nothing more than a glorified market day, with games and competitions attached to it.

Ralf had always supported the fair wholeheartedly. Besides bringing good business for the local mer
chants, it had been a way to bring city and castle together. The knights of the castle guard threw quoits and bowls along with the merchants from the town, and the competition was good-humored and friendly. If a few lads drank too much and ended up spending the night in a castle cell, well, no lasting harm ever came of it.

Gervase had the same outlook on the fair as had his predecessor, which is why he allowed it to be held even though he knew he was outraging the de Beauté party, who remained ensconced in the castle.

“Why doesn’t that girl go home?” the sheriff complained as he sat over midday dinner with his son and Hugh on the day before the fair was scheduled to open. “She was in my office again today, with that long-faced companion of hers, protesting the fair and demanding that I get the justiciar here tomorrow.” He took a long drink of wine. “God’s blood, she can do nothing useful here in Lincoln. All she is is a thorn in my side.”

Hugh carefully broke his bread in half. “With the king in Cornwall,” he said, “there is no one to assume control over her. Unfortunately.”

Gervase glared at Hugh. “You are supposed to be betrothed to her. Can’t you get her to leave? It isn’t decent for a young girl to want to see a hanging.”

“I was never betrothed to Elizabeth de Beauté and the less I see of her the happier I will be,” Hugh returned calmly. He broke the bread again and glanced at Richard. “You appear to be good friends with her, Richard. Why don’t you try to convince her to go home?”

Richard said ruefully, “My friendship is not as influential as that, I’m afraid.”

“Well, all I can say is, she is a cursed nuisance,” Ger
vase said. “All of my knights fall over themselves every time she shows her face. I had to break up a fight today between two of them.”

Hugh raised his brows. “A fight, sir?”

“Aye. Apparently the girl smiled at one of them. Guyton thought he was the favored one and Walter thought it was him. They got into a fight about it.” Gervase finished the wine in his cup. “I wish the bothersome girl would keep her smiles to herself.”

“I don’t think you’re being quite fair, Father,” Richard said mildly. “Her father’s death has plunged Lady Elizabeth’s life into chaos, and she is frightened. This obsession of hers to see her father’s murderer brought to justice gives her a purpose to hold on to. She is only a young girl, after all. I think she deserves some pity.”

“Which you appear to be supplying, Richard,” Hugh remarked blandly. “From what I can see, you live in Lady Elizabeth’s pocket.”

“She is alone and I feel sorry for her,” Richard replied. “Is the idea of simple kindness so foreign to you, Hugh?” His blue eyes narrowed. “Or perhaps you are jealous?”

Hugh’s face lit with amusement. “You are very welcome to Lady Elizabeth, Richard. I have no claim on her, nor do I want one.”

Gervase said, in the manner of one settling an argument, “Well, considering all her objections about its propriety, at least she won’t attend the fair. That is something, I suppose.”

Silence fell as the men continued to eat.

Then, as he soaked up some gravy with his bread, Richard said to Hugh, “Are you entering Rufus in the horse race?”

Hugh shook his head.

Richard seemed disappointed. “That is too bad. I will be riding Durand, and I was hoping to have some competition.”

Hugh looked at Richard, his face expressionless, and did not reply.

“I don’t think you should ride Durand in the horse race, Richard,” Gervase said. “His quality is too far above the other horses that will be entered. It wouldn’t be a fair competition, and the townsfolk would resent it.”

Richard’s face darkened, and for a moment he was not handsome at all. Then the moment passed and his face assumed its usual good-humored expression.

“All right, Father,” he said. “If you don’t think it’s a good idea, I won’t enter the race.”

Gervase gave his son an approving smile.

“What other events will be held?” Hugh asked.

“The same as always,” Gervase replied. “Wrestling, archery—and the horse race will be held on the the first day. The camp-ball game will be played the second day.”

“Who are the camp-ball captains this year?” Hugh asked idly.

Gervase’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Didn’t you know? They are you and Richard.”

Hugh paused in the act of lifting his cup and stared at the sheriff in surprise. Then, slowly, he put his cup back on the table. “I don’t think that is a good idea, sir.”

“Nonsense,” Gervase said briskly. “When I suggested it to Master Faren he was delighted.”

Master Faren was Lincoln’s master goldsmith and head of the group of townsfolk in charge of the fair.

Hugh glanced at Richard’s serene face. “Was this your idea?” he demanded.

Richard smiled. “I thought it would be fun.”

Hugh picked up his wine cup and drained it.

Fun?
he thought morosely.
It will be mayhem
.

Hugh spent the afternoon in the Bail, talking with the various merchants who rented stalls there.

Daniel Merton sold cauldrons, kettles, cups, sickles, billhooks, saws, and fasteners. He told Hugh he was paying three pence a day to rent his stall. Walter Newton, who sold fleeces and sheepskin for making parchment, had told Hugh he paid the same, as did the rest of the merchants who did business all year round.

“That is a lot of money,” Hugh said to Daniel as he stood inside the merchant’s stall, which was warmed by a charcoal brazier.

“Aye, it is. But those of us who rent here don’t have a shop in town. And the farmers who rent seasonally say that they get good business from the castle and the bishop’s residence, so it is worth it.”

“How many farmers rent during the good weather?” Hugh asked.

Daniel told him.

Hugh figured the sums in his mind, and came to the same conclusion as had Edgar Harding. The sheriff was collecting more in rent than he was expending in additional pay to the castle guard.

Daniel was not the only merchant burning charcoal, and the smell and the smoke from many braziers filled the air. Hugh’s eyes were tearing slightly from the fumes, and he blinked to clear them.

“How did the sheriff decide which merchants to rent to?” he asked idly as he lifted a plain wooden cup to examine it.

Daniel shrugged. “For myself, I heard that stalls in the Bail were becoming available and I applied.”

Hugh ran his finger over the cup to test its smoothness. “I only ask because Edgar Harding was complaining to me the other day that he had not been offered a stall.” He returned the cup to the table.

“No one was ‘offered’ a stall, Lord Hugh,” Daniel said. “We all just heard one way or another that the sheriff was renting market stalls and we applied to get one.”

“Who did you apply to?”

If Daniel was puzzled by Hugh’s interest, his thin, pointy face did not show it. “We applied to the same person who collects the rents, Theobold Elton. He is the man who supervises the market operation.”

Hugh frowned thoughtfully. “I do not believe I know him.”

“He came to Lincoln after you left, Lord Hugh. He’s one of the castle knights.”

“I see.”

Hugh reached for his purse. “I believe I will purchase this cup, Daniel. What are you asking for it?”

The man’s smile showed two missing front teeth. “Three pence,” he said.

Hugh, who knew full well that Daniel had more than tripled the price of the cup, nodded gravely and handed over the money.

“You have made your day’s rent,” he said.

The man cackled with delight. “Aye,” he returned, “that I have.” His eyes sparkled as he presented Hugh with his purchase.

As Hugh was crossing the Bail on his way back to the castle, a man came riding in through the main gate. John Rye’s hood was down, and his black hair and dark face were clearly distinguishable in the late afternoon sun.

Hugh immediately changed his direction in order to intercept the newcomer. Rye pulled up abruptly when he saw who was approaching him.

“Good afternoon, Rye,” Hugh said. “I’m surprised to see you in Lincoln. Don’t you ever spend any time at home?”

“I’m here for the fair,” Rye said. “I need to replace some of the livestock I lost at home.”

“Has your household returned?” Hugh asked. “Who is guarding your wife and children in your absence?”

“My wife and children are none of your business,” Rye growled, and abruptly jerked his horse’s head sideways to get around Hugh. The animal’s mouth opened in protest against the cruel jab and it jumped sideways.

There is someone who will bear watching
, Hugh thought as he observed John Rye ride through the gate and pass into the Inner bail.

The first person Rye saw when he entered the Inner bail was William Rotier, standing by the stockade watching as a groom trotted a black gelding back and forth for him.

Rye dismounted and went over to the stockade. He stood in silence for a minute, watching the trotting horse along with Rotier.

“That’s enough, Will,” Rotier called to the groom.

“Off on the near front, eh?” Rye grunted.

“Aye.” The groom came up to them leading Rotier’s horse. “Have the blacksmith pull the shoe and then soak the foot in a bucket of cold water,” Rotier instructed.

“Aye, sir,” the groom answered, and began to lead the lame horse back toward the stables.

Rotier watched his horse being led off and said to Rye, “He just got shoes and I think the smith might have caught him with a nail.”

“That’s not so bad, then,” Rye said.

“I suppose not, but it annoys me. The fellow should take more time and he wouldn’t make mistakes like that.”

Rye grunted sympathetically.

Rotier finally removed his eyes from his horse and turned to the man beside him. “What are you doing in Lincoln, Rye?” he asked amiably. “Come for the fair?”

“Aye. I thought I’d bed down in the guardroom for the next few days.”

This was Rye’s usual habit when he came into Lincoln. It was a good way to save the price of an inn, and Gervase always extended the courtesy of the castle guardroom to all the men who did castle duty for their knight’s fee.

“I’m afraid that the de Beauté knights have taken over the guardroom,” Rotier returned regretfully.

“They’re still here?” Rye said in surprise.

“Aye. Lady Elizabeth has refused to go home until someone is convicted of the murder of her father.”

Rye scowled. “She didn’t have that many knights with her. They can’t be taking up all the space in the guardroom.”

“The sheriff has been doing all he can to keep the de Beauté party separated from the rest of us,” Rotier explained. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll find you a place somewhere in our own quarters.”

“Thanks,” returned Rye.

“Your wife is better, I take it?”

“Aye. She is better.”

“Good. Well, take your horse to the stable and I’ll see what I can do about finding you a bedplace.”

Rye nodded and led his horse away.

As soon as he had left his saddlebags in the wooden hut where Rotier had found him a place with a group of other knights, the first thing Rye did was to go in search of the man he had come to Lincoln to see. When it became clear that the man wasn’t anywhere in the castle environs, he shrugged and went off to the local tavern for drinks with a group of off-duty guards.

A short while after the midday meal with his father and Hugh, Richard returned to the castle in order to take Elizabeth de Beauté for a ride into the countryside. This outing had become a regular part of his day whenever the weather was fine. Lady Sybil permitted it because he and Elizabeth were never gone too long and because, like most other people, Lady Sybil had fallen under Richard’s spell.

The two young people rode north, as usual, into Lincoln Fields. Ploughing and harrowing would not begin for another few weeks, and the fields lay desolate under the chill February sun. In the distance, the sheep and cows that belonged to the townspeople wandered about the bare communal pasture, searching for grass.

Halfway across the fields, Richard and Elizabeth veered east off the main road and followed a track that led into the woods. After half a mile they came upon a small glade, and there they stopped their horses and dismounted.

Richard tied their reins to a fallen branch, turned to Elizabeth, and held out his arms. She glided into them.

The sun shone into the small glade, reflecting off the mingled fire of the girl’s hair and the more muted gold of the man’s. Richard looked down into the beautiful face uplifted to him. He traced his finger over the girl’s
cheek and jawbones, then down the front of her throat until he reached the tie on her mantle.

Elizabeth gazed up at him, her green eyes hazy and sensuous. “What are we going to do, my love?” she murmured. “What if the king refuses to let us marry? What will we do then?”

Richard touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “Stephen prides himself on his chivalry. He will dance to your command the way the rest of us do, my pet.”

Elizabeth did not look convinced. “I might have been able to get my father to change his mind, but the king…” She frowned. “Besides,
you
don’t dance to my command. Why should you expect the king to?”