The Poisoned Serpent (19 page)

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 cir
cle. 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.

T
he first day of the fair was marred by only a few minor incidents. In one of them a few of the town youngsters stole several jugs of wine and proceeded to get noisily and obnoxiously drunk. The sheriff returned them to their parents and collected money to reimburse the irate vintner whose stall had been plundered.

Aside from the wine incident, five people were arrested for attempted theft, and a husband and wife became so enraged with each other over a purchase that one of the sheriff’s men had to be called in to separate them.

Late in the evening, after the streets were quiet, Alan was sitting in the family hall with Gervase and Richard when Hugh came in.

Alan was shocked to see him. After the way he had humiliated Richard, the squire wondered how he had the nerve to show his face in the sheriff’s house.

Gervase, who knew nothing about the archery contest, greeted Hugh amiably and invited him to have a cup of wine.

Hugh accepted, and sat down on a stool beside the
fire. Alan, a look of disapproval upon his young face, poured some wine and brought it to him. Hugh took the cup and sipped the wine.

“Did you enjoy the fair, Hugh?” Gervase asked.

“It was very pleasant,” Hugh returned. “Did you make many arrests?”

“A few,” the sheriff admitted. “No blood was shed, however, and that is the main thing.”

“Aye.” Hugh took another sip from his wine cup, then rested it on his knee.

Alan looked at him. Both the sheriff and Richard were seated in chairs, and their elevated height and dignified posture should have made them the dominant figures in the room. Hugh was folded upon a low stool, balancing a wine glass on his knee, yet he managed effortlessly to be the center of attention.

It was odd, Alan mused, how one always felt compelled to look at Hugh to gauge his reaction to whatever was happening.

Of course, Richard had the same kind of ability to command attention, Alan thought with immediate loyalty. But Richard was so physically magnificent that one expected him to have a dominating presence. Next to Richard, Hugh looked like a boy. Yet he had this magnetic quality about him.

“Did you hear that Lord Guy left Lincoln early this morning?” Gervase said to Hugh.

“Aye.” The fire flamed up behind Hugh’s head. His hair was purely black, Alan noticed. There was no brown in it at all.

“Do you know where he was going?” Gervase asked.

Hugh quirked an ironic eyebrow. “He didn’t confide his plans to me. However, it doesn’t take a great deal of imagination to surmise that he is going to meet the
king. I doubt that Guy has given up hope on either the de Beauté marriage or the earldom.”

Alan thought he sounded supremely indifferent to this enticing prospect.

Richard spoke for the first time. “What if Guy is successful and wins both of those things from Stephen? Will you take the earldom?”

“I’d take the earldom if I didn’t have to take the girl,” Hugh replied instantly. “As it is, I already know who I am going to marry, and it is not Elizabeth de Beauté.”

Alan remembered the scene he had eavesdropped upon, and blurted out before he could stop himself, “Is it Lady Cristen?”

Hugh shot him a quick smile. “Aye. It is Lady Cristen.”

Unexpectedly warmed by that friendly look, Alan met Hugh’s eyes. “She is nice,” he said a little shyly.

Hugh regarded him with approval. “Aye. She is very nice.”

A flood of pleasure rushed through Alan.

Hugh looked at Richard. “Did you know that John Rye was in Lincoln?” he asked.

Richard gave him a thoughtful look. “I believe I might have glimpsed him in the castle courtyard this morning. Why do you ask?”

Hugh shrugged.

Richard regarded him steadily.

Alan frowned, opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind, and closed it again.

“Why should Richard care whether or not John Rye is in town?” Gervase asked Hugh gruffly.

“No reason,” Hugh responded lightly.

Gervase looked puzzled.

Richard continued to look thoughtful.

Hugh looked bland.

Alan’s worried frown deepened.

Then Hugh said, “Let us hope that we get through the camp-ball game tomorrow as smoothly as we have gotten through this first day.”

“Aye,” Richard agreed. He gave his father a sympathetic smile. “But it’s not likely.”

Gervase sighed. “I know.”

“Is it dangerous?” asked Alan, who had never attended the camp-ball game before.

“It can get a little rough,” Hugh said with amusement.

“This year we’ve limited the boundaries of the camping close,” Gervase said. “I hope that will help eliminate some of the fighting in alleys that always tends to go on.”

“What are the new boundaries?” Hugh asked.

“The length of the close will be the same as always, from the city wall to the Bail wall, but this year we are going to confine the game to the Mickelgate and the Strait.”

“
What?
” The identical exclamation, made in identically outraged voices, burst from Richard and Hugh simultaneously.

“That is what the town committee and I have decided,” Gervase said sternly. “I don’t want a mob of overstimulated players running through the streets of Lincoln. There was a great deal of damage done to private property last year and I won’t allow that to happen again.”

“The street is too narrow for all the players,” Richard objected.

“Aye,” said Hugh, for once in agreement with Richard. “I can see the value of limiting the playing field, but one narrow street is not enough space for two
hundred players. There will be a constant pileup of men, and no one will be able to move the ball at all.”

“The committee and I have discussed that possibility,” the sheriff said in a measured tone. “If there is a pileup of players and no one can move, the game will be stopped, the pile will be separated, and the side that has possession of the ball will get to throw it.”

Both Richard and Hugh scowled.

“And who is going to have the pleasure of trying to separate the pileup?” Richard asked grimly.

“I am,” Gervase replied.

Silence prevailed while Richard and Hugh digested this information.

“It will make it a different game,” said Hugh.

“The idea is to make it a less destructive game,” the sheriff returned. “At least as far as private property is concerned.”

Hugh took a swallow of his wine. “There goes my idea of letting loose Mistress Chapman’s pigs.” His voice held real regret.

Richard laughed with genuine amusement. “I was going to use that huge swine that belongs to the shoemaker.”

Hugh grinned.

“Well, you boys will just have to think of something that does not involve other people’s livestock,” Gervase said firmly. “If you try to do something like that on the Strait, the whole game will stop.”

Hugh lifted one black eyebrow. “A challenge, Richard,” he said softly.

Richard’s blue eyes glinted. “So it is,” he replied. “So it is.”

The second day of the fair was not as warm or as clear as the first day had been. Clouds had moved in from
the east overnight, and there was a dampness in the air that foretold rain.

The weather did not dampen the spirits of the men of Lincoln as they prepared for the camp-ball game, however. The sport itself was very simple. It was played by two teams, each of which had to try to get the leather camp-ball to the opposing side’s goal. The chief rule was that the ball had to be run or thrown, not kicked. The game started when the ball was tossed up between the two sides. Whichever side gained control of it immediately took off for the opposing side’s goal, and went as far as it possibly could.

There were no rules beyond getting the ball to the goal. How you ran the ball, how you stopped the ball, how you stole the ball, all of these things were left to the imagination and invention of the players.

There were always a large number of injuries, ranging from bruises to sprained ankles to broken bones. All the young men of Lincoln adored the game and looked forward to it throughout the whole of the long dark winter.

As soon as ten o’clock mass was finished on Wednesday morning the players gathered in the yard of Saint Peter ad Placita near the city wall in order to choose up sides. This was done quite simply by having each captain call men from among the packed crowd of waiting players.

Hugh, as befitted his superior status, went first.

“Hubert Dunning,” he called, to Alan’s surprise. Hubert was the son of the town’s silversmith. Alan had expected that the men of the castle guard would be taken before the men from town.

A slender, fair-haired young man separated himself from the crowd and went to stand behind Hugh. He was grinning.

Richard chose as Alan had expected. He took one of the largest of the knights from the castle.

Alan tried not to feel disappointed that Richard had not chosen him first.

It was more difficult to restrain his emotions, however, as the choosing of sides went on. Hugh took a variety of men, some from the town and some from the castle. Richard continued to go for the knights first.

He took John Rye, who was not even a permanent member of the castle guard.

Richard did not look once at Alan.

Don’t be a fool
, Alan castigated himself.
You are not half as strong as these men. You can’t even pull a full-size longbow! Richard wants to win and he is choosing accordingly. He can’t be concerned about your puny feelings
.

Then, to Alan’s surprise and intense relief, he heard his name being called.

“Alan Stanham.”

But the voice that had called his name belonged to Hugh.

Alan walked forward, his cheeks flaming, to join the team that opposed his lord.

At last the sides were chosen, and each captain gathered his men on opposite sides of the courtyard for an encouraging talk.

There were slightly more than a hundred men on each side.

The two meetings went very differently. From Richard’s side of the courtyard, Alan could hear uproarious cheers and shouts. Richard knew exactly how to get his men in the right frame of mind for a battle.

Hugh, on the other hand, was all business.

“This is how we are going to play,” he said briskly. He was standing with his back to the church wall, with his team gathered before him. His voice, which was
pitched normally, was perfectly audible to the men in the last row. “As you know, the field this year has been confined to the main street, so our tactics must be a little different from in the past. The primary ball carriers today will be Hubert Dunning, Rob Walker, Thomas Mannyng, Michael Baxter, and Alan Stanham.”

Alan’s eyes widened in shock as he heard his name.

“They all throw with accuracy,” Hugh said. He grinned. “I was not wasting my time at the games yesterday, as you can see.”

Everyone laughed.

“Each of the ball carriers is to have a circle of men to protect him. I am going to name the men for this job and who it is they are to protect.”

He reeled off a list of one hundred names, twenty for each of the ball carriers. He did it without notes. He had all of the men’s names in his memory.

The men stood in perfect silence under the overcast sky and listened intently.

Hugh continued, “You are to form up as if the ball carrier was a castle and you are the walls that protect him. There must be a space like a courtyard between the wall and the castle so that the thrower will have room to throw the ball without interference and to receive the ball without it being intercepted by the other team. Is that understood?”

The answers came back: “Aye, my lord,” and “Aye, Hugh,” according to how well the speakers knew their captain.

“Good,” Hugh said. “Once we have formed up, we will spread our five castles along the length of the street. The idea is to pass the ball from one castle to the next. Each castle will run the ball as far as it can and, when the pressure becomes too intense for the walls to
hold it back, the thrower will pass the ball to the next castle.”

“What happens if the ball is intercepted?” someone called. “The other team will have an open run to our goal.”

Hugh raised his brows. “Oh, are you planning to let the other team intercept the ball?”

Laughter.

“Seriously, that is a good question,” Hugh said. “Two of our castles will be placed defensively, behind the ball. Their job will be to recover the ball and once more pass it forward.”

The men all nodded intently.

“What about those of us who have no assignment, Hugh?” someone called.

“We are the rovers,” Hugh said. “There will be twelve of us, and our job is to watch what is happening and help out where we are needed.”

Hugh looked over his team in front of him. “Does everyone understand what they are to do?”

The men responded with determination:

“
Aye
.”

“
Aye
.”

“
We do
.”

“Excellent,” said Hugh. He grinned, his face bright with anticipation. “Then let’s go out there and have some fun.”

For as long as he lived, Alan would remember that camp-ball game. The starting place was by the shoemaker’s on the Strait, halfway between the two goals. As he had explained to his team, Hugh posted three offensive castle formations between the start and Richard’s goal, which was at the Bail wall at the end of
the Strait, and two defensive formations between the start and his own goal, which was at the city wall at the end of the Mickelgate.

Alan’s group was the middle castle between the start and the Bail. He stood in the center of his protective wall of men and tried to quiet the pounding of his heart.

Ralf Haywood, one of the chief freemen of the town, stepped forward to start the game, the leather camp-ball in his hands. The line of men protecting Hubert Dunning, the thrower for the first castle, jostled for position. The men whom Hugh had designated as rovers were at the fore as well.

Alan looked at the mass of men lined up on the other side of the ball.

Richard had objected at first to Hugh’s placing men on his side of the line, but the sheriff had ruled that there was nothing in the rules against it. So then Richard had dispatched a group of his own men to hold position behind Hugh’s lines. He retained most of his team in an offensive position, however, clearly intending to catch the ball first and make a strong aggressive run.