The Poisoned Serpent (25 page)

“Good heavens,” said Hugh, still astonished.

“She is not accustomed to rejection,” Cristen said.

He laughed, stretched out his legs in front of him, and crossed his booted feet at the ankles.

Cristen, seated in Adela’s old chair, looked at him thoughtfully. “Who do you think the man is?”

“It has to be Richard,” Hugh replied. “They appear to be very close.”

Cristen nodded her agreement. “If it is Richard, however, she must have known him for longer than we thought. Even Richard could not charm an already betrothed girl into defying her father on the acquaintance of a few weeks. He must have fixed his interest with her earlier.”

“Mmm. It would be just Richard’s style to pick out a wealthy, high-born girl like Elizabeth and make her fall in love with him. Undoubtedly he was hoping that she would be able to convince her father to let him marry her.” He raised an ironic eyebrow. “Richard would love to be the next Earl of Lincoln.”

Cristen frowned. “If that theory is correct, Hugh, it
means Richard would want the earl alive rather than dead. I should think that Elizabeth’s doting father would be more likely than the king to allow her to choose her own husband.”

Hugh leaned his head against the back of his chair and rested his hands on the chair arms. “Perhaps,” he agreed. “But what if the earl had discovered the market stall cheat? If he knew about it, and if Richard is indeed the man behind it, then it would be imperative for Richard to get him out of the way. Under those circumstances, the earl would never allow Richard to marry his daughter.”

The light from the fire illuminated Hugh’s dark head as it lay against the high chair back. Cristen looked at his relaxed figure and nodded thoughtfully.

Comfortable silence reigned as they both pursued their own thoughts.

Finally Cristen said, “What are we going to do if we can’t find relatives to care for Nicholas and Iseult?”

“I doubt that there
are
any relatives I would feel comfortable entrusting them to,” Hugh replied. “I suppose we could prevail upon a distant cousin to take them in, but can you imagine what their lives would be like under such circumstances?”

“Shall we take them, then?” Cristen asked.

“Would you mind?”

She lifted affronted eyebrows.

“I only asked for form’s sake,” he assured her.

She smiled.

“So there is another reason that we must be married soon,” Hugh said.

“Aye.”

“Can you just see us, Richard and me, trotting in one after the other to beg the king to allow us to marry the girl of our choice?” Hugh said with irony.

“Your situations are rather different,” she pointed out. “Richard wants to marry above his station and you want to marry below yours.”

Hugh held out his hand, and Cristen got up from her chair and went over to join him in his. He put an arm around her shoulders and they sat quietly, their bodies pressed together in the confines of the chair, her head resting on his shoulder.

They stayed that way as the fire slowly died down.

Finally Hugh said, “I should go.”

She sighed. “I know.”

Neither of them moved.

The room was growing cold when finally Hugh kissed the top of the silky brown head that lay on his shoulder. “Soon I won’t have to leave you at all,” he said fiercely.

“That will be wonderful,” she replied softly. And smiled so that he wouldn’t see the fear she harbored in her heart.

Precisely at noon on Friday, the king’s Chief Justiciar of England, Lord Richard Basset, entered the city of Lincoln. With him he bore the official seal of his office: the device of a knight in full armor striking with his sword a rampant monster that grasped in its mouth a helpless, naked figure.

Lord Richard was received by the sheriff and the bishop, and was made comfortable in the guest chamber of the bishop’s house.

He was a very busy man, the chief justiciar announced, and he had to be back in London within the week. Therefore, the trial of Bernard Radvers would begin promptly on the morrow.

The chief justiciar was given a splendid dinner by the bishop, and attended evening services in the Min
ster. After these devotions he retired to his room to look through the documents that the sheriff had submitted to him pertaining to the murder case he was to hear on the morrow. After the sand had run out in his hourglass, the chief justiciar went to bed and slept the sleep of the just.

Hugh did not have so tranquil an evening. He spent most of it prowling the perimeter of an imaginary rectangle while Cristen and the children sat close to the fire, along with Mabel and Thomas. Mabel was singing for them in her lovely clear soprano.

Finally Cristen turned to Hugh, pacing at the end of the room, and said with a mixture of sympathy and resignation, “Stalking around like a hungry tiger isn’t going to help anything, Hugh.”

Across the room their eyes met.

“I know.” Slowly he came to join the group by the fire and stood next to Cristen in her chair. “I just keep thinking that there is some important piece of evidence that I have missed.”

Nicholas was sitting on a stool with Benjamin’s head lying on his lap. He gazed up at Hugh and asked, “What are you worried about, Hugh?”

Hugh looked at the boy’s inquiring face and didn’t reply.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Nicholas said with dignity. “I am sorry if I pried.”

Hugh said, “I’m worried because a friend of mine goes on trial for murder tomorrow and I need to prove that he is innocent.”

“Did he murder my papa?” Iseult asked curiously.

“He didn’t murder anyone, sweeting,” Hugh returned. “Somebody else did the murder and is trying to lay the blame on my friend.”

“Was my father really murdered?” Nicholas asked
in an awestruck voice. “I thought it was an accident.”

“I think he was murdered, Nicholas. I think he was murdered by the same man who killed the Earl of Lincoln. That is whose death the trial tomorrow is about, you see. Bernard Radvers, my friend, is accused of killing the Earl of Lincoln.”

“What about my father?”

“I think your father knew something about the earl’s murder and he was killed to keep him quiet.”

Nicholas’s eyes were huge pools of blue. “My father did go into Lincoln to see someone special,” he said. “Do you think that is the man who killed him?”

All the attention in the room converged on Nicholas.

Hugh said carefully, “Do you know who your father was going to see, Nicholas?”

“Well…he didn’t tell
me
,” the boy replied, “but I overheard him telling my mother. He said that this man was sure to pay him good money and then he would be able to buy a manor that would be truly our own.”

The room was deadly silent. Nicholas had gone very pale. Seeking reassurance, he played with Benjamin’s ears.

Then Cristen said gently, “This is very important, Nicholas. What was the name of the man your father told your mother he was going to see?”

Nicholas bit his lip and answered, “He was going to see the sheriff.”

A
s soon as Lord Richard Basset had arrived in the city, the sheriff had sent official summonses to all those who would be required to appear as witnesses in the trial of Bernard Radvers. These witnesses had been notified weeks earlier to hold themselves in readiness, and so were expected to present themselves upon demand.

Since he was the person who had discovered the earl’s body, Alan was one of those who received a summons. On the day of the trial, after breaking the morning fast, he and Richard walked together through the damp, foggy streets of Lincoln up to the castle. The Bail was busy as usual with those arriving for mass at the Minster and those who had come to shop at the market stalls, but in the Inner bail the knights of the castle guard went about their business in a silence that was almost eerie. Even the horses seemed to munch their hay with unnatural quiet.

Alan and Richard were silent also as they climbed the stairs to the keep and entered the castle. The trial was to be held in the armory hall, whose vast emptiness had been transformed into a hall of justice for the occasion.

Alan looked around with curiosity as he and Richard came in. A long wooden table with three chairs behind it had been placed in the middle of the hall. The two end chairs were already occupied, one by a tonsured clerk, whose duty it was to take notes of the trial’s proceedings, and the other by the sheriff, the king’s chief law officer in Lincoln. Alan looked at Gervase’s face, which was as expressionless as a mask.

He must know that Hugh intends to reveal his dishonesty
, Alan thought, and felt a twinge of pity for the hapless sheriff.

The various witnesses had been provided with five rows of benches, which had been set up to face the chief justiciar’s table. Bernard, as the accused, was already in place on the first bench, with Hugh beside him.

The armory walls were punctuated with four small windows, but as the murky day offered little light, the flambeaux affixed to the walls had been lit. There was no source of heat in the hall and nearly everyone present was wearing a warm mantle.

Richard chose a bench in the third row and Alan sat next to him. Cristen was sitting directly in front of them, and Alan was surprised to see that she had Nicholas Rye with her.

Nicholas turned around and gave Alan a quick, shy smile.

Two of the Bail merchants sat at the end of Alan’s row. Alan shot a quick look at Richard’s grim profile, then looked away. The merchants must be there to testify about the amount of rent they paid to the sheriff, he thought.

Once more, Alan looked at Gervase’s masklike face.

A sudden rustle of sound behind him caused Alan to
turn his head, and he saw Elizabeth de Beauté, accompanied by Lady Sybil, entering the armory hall.

Elizabeth wore a white wimple over her glorious hair and a green tunic with an embroidered neckline over a pristine white undertunic. Around her graceful shoulders was a gray wool mantle lined with fur. Her lovely face looked infinitely sorrowful.

Gilbert de Beauté’s daughter was making good her promise to witness the downfall of her father’s murderer.

From the martyred expression on Lady Sybil’s face, Alan deduced that Elizabeth’s companion was not pleased with her charge’s decision.

Head held high, looking at no one, Elizabeth walked to the second row of benches and sat down at a little distance from Cristen.

The next person to enter the room came from the far side of the hall. Walking briskly, carrying a rolled document under his arm, was Lord Richard Basset, Chief Justiciar of England. All of the witnesses rose to their feet.

Richard Basset sat in the empty chair, handed his document to the clerk, and folded his hands. The rest of the room remained standing as the clerk unrolled the parchment and read in a loud voice so that all could hear:

The clerk carefully rerolled the parchment and informed the assembled courtroom, “You may be seated.”

Lord Richard Basset lifted his eyes from his clasped hands. He was tall and rail-thin, with a beak of a nose and eyes so dark, they almost looked black. He was dressed in a long-sleeved brown tunic and a wine-colored cloak lined with ermine. On his dark hair he wore a soft wine-colored cap trimmed with a fur band.

For a long, silent moment, he surveyed the group gathered before him, his eyes lingering for just a second on Elizabeth and Cristen. Everyone sat as still as petrified wood and gazed back. Finally, in a voice that was oddly husky coming from such an emaciated frame, he announced, “I hereby declare open the case concerning the murder of the Earl of Lincoln brought by the Sheriff of Lincoln against Bernard Radvers.”

The intense black eyes focused on Bernard. “How do you plead?”

In a clear, steady voice that betrayed none of the weakness of his illness, Bernard replied, “I am innocent of these charges, my lord.”

“Do you stand ready to prove your innocence?”

“Aye, my lord, I do.”

The chief justiciar’s eyes flicked to Hugh, then back again to Bernard. “And have you an advocate to assist in your defense?”

“Aye, my lord, I do,” Bernard replied. “Lord Hugh de Leon will act as my advocate.”

There was absolutely no expression on the chief justiciar’s face as he nodded his acceptance.

All Alan could see of Hugh was the back of his head.

Next the justiciar turned to the sheriff, who was seated on his right. “Are you ready to prove this charge, Sir Gervase?”

“Aye, my lord,” Gervase replied. He looked as if he had not slept for a week, but his voice was firm. “I am ready to prove this charge.”

“Very well,” the justiciar said. “You may call your first witness.”

Alan’s hands clenched into fists as he heard the sheriff call his name. Richard gave him an encouraging look, and Alan stood up on trembling legs and walked forward to take his place in front of the justiciar.

“My lord,” the sheriff informed Richard Basset, “this is Alan Stanham, the boy who found the body of the earl.”

Alan looked into the penetrating black eyes of the justiciar and tried not to show his nervousness.

“Tell us, please, how this discovery came about,” the justiciar said.

“My lord, I went to the Minster on an errand for Sir Richard Canville, to whom I am squire,” Alan replied in a steady voice. “Sir Richard had left his knife in the vestibule earlier in the day and he asked me to retrieve it for him. I found the knife and then I decided that, since I was right there in the Minster, I would go inside and say a quick prayer. So I opened the door to the church.”

Here Alan stopped, certain he could feel Hugh’s eyes on his back.

After a moment, the justiciar said, “You may continue.”

“Aye, my lord.” Alan swallowed. “Well, as I came into the church, I noticed a light about halfway down
the center aisle. I was surprised, as you can imagine, and I looked to see who could be there at such an hour. That is when I saw Bernard Radvers bending over the body of the Earl of Lincoln.” Alan paused with unconscious drama. “In his hand he was holding a knife that was covered in blood.”

There was a little stir among those assembled in the hall.

“What happened then?” the justiciar asked in a level voice.

“Bernard saw me standing there and said that the earl was dead and that I should go for the sheriff.”

“Let me be clear about this. Did you or did you not see Bernard Radvers in the act of stabbing the earl?”

“I did not, my lord.”

The justiciar nodded. “Did you then go for the sheriff?”

“First I ran up the aisle to see for myself what had happened,” Alan said.

“And what did you see?”

Alan swallowed again. “I saw that it was indeed the earl lying there, my lord, and I saw that he had been stabbed in the heart, most probably by the knife that Bernard was holding.”

Lady Elizabeth buried her face in her hands.

The justiciar looked at Bernard. “Is this information accurate?” he asked.

Bernard stood. “Aye, my lord. But it was not as it seemed to Alan.”

“How was it then?” the justiciar asked.

“I found the earl lying there, my lord, and I knelt beside him to ascertain his condition. When I saw that he was dead, I noticed the knife lying by his side. Unthinkingly, I picked it up to look at it. That is the explanation for my position when Alan came in and
found me. I did not stab the earl, my lord. I swear it.”

“What were you doing in the Minster at such an hour?”

“I had received a message from the sheriff, my lord. At least, I was told it was from the sheriff. It said I was to meet him in the Minster two hours after evening services.”

“Didn’t you think this message rather odd?”

“I thought it was very odd, my lord, but I obeyed it.”

“Who brought you this message?”

“William Cobbett, one of the castle grooms, my lord.”

The chief justiciar turned to Gervase. “This is the groom who was killed?”

“Aye, my lord,” the sheriff replied grimly. “He was stabbed in the heart.”

One of the assembled witnesses exclaimed out loud, and Lord Richard frowned at him before turning back to Bernard. “So you have no proof that you did indeed receive this message?”

“My only proof would be the word of the groom, my lord, and he is dead.”

Once again the chief justiciar turned to Gervase. “Is it known what brought the earl to the Minster at such an unlikely time?”

“My lord, we presume that Bernard sent him a message by the dead groom that asked him to come to the Minster at that hour. Our contention is that Bernard killed the groom in order to conceal this information.”

“My lord.” The quiet yet perfectly audible voice belonged to Hugh.

The chief justiciar’s face was unreadable as he regarded Bernard’s advocate. “Do you have something to say, Lord Hugh?”

At the sound of Hugh’s voice, Alan turned so that he was half facing the justiciar and half facing the wit
nesses. For the first time that day, he saw more than the back of Hugh’s head.

Hugh was soberly dressed in a plain blue wool tunic and darker blue hose. In this chill, unheated hall, he wore no cloak. Alan noticed that his uncovered black hair had been newly cut.

Hugh said mildly, “I just wondered, my lord, if Bernard were so desperate a character that he murdered the earl and this groom, why did he not murder the young squire who found him in such a compromising situation? It would not have been difficult for him to overpower a youngster like Alan Stanham. Instead, however, he sent Alan for the sheriff. Surely that is not the behavior of a guilty man.”

“A good point, Lord Hugh,” the chief justiciar conceded. He turned his gaze to Alan. “Did Bernard Radvers make any threatening gestures toward you?”

“Nay, my lord,” Alan replied.

The chief justiciar nodded.

Hugh said, “My lord, I would be interested to know what brought Alan Stanham to the Minster at the exact time that Bernard was discovering the earl’s dead body.”

The chief justiciar looked annoyed. “We have already had that question answered, I believe. The boy was on an errand for Sir Richard Canville.”

“I realize that, my lord,” Hugh replied. “What I do not understand is how such an errand came to be timed so exactly.”

The chief justiciar’s black eyes hooded themselves. “Just what are you implying, Lord Hugh?”

“I am implying nothing, my lord,” Hugh replied. “I am only wondering if the timing of Alan’s errand was merely chance.”

Alan, who understood exactly what Hugh was try
ing to do, stood taller. “I can answer that question, my lord,” he said in a clear ringing voice. “Sir Richard noticed that he didn’t have his knife when he went to cut a piece of meat that I had served him. The timing was pure chance.”

“It was rather a late hour to be eating supper,” Hugh commented.

“Sir Richard is a large man,” Alan said defiantly. “He gets hungry more often than the rest of us.”

A light breath of laughter ran through the hall.

“Did Richard himself say he was hungry and ask you for food?” Hugh said.

“Sir Richard is the only one capable of knowing whether or not he is hungry, my lord,” Alan retorted.

Once again there came a ripple of laughter.

Careful, lad
, Bernard thought worriedly.

Hugh went on, “So Sir Richard asked for food, discovered that his knife was missing, and sent you to the Minster to recover it just in time for you to find Bernard kneeling over the earl’s dead body.”

The chief justiciar said impatiently, “I fail to see the point of these questions, Lord Hugh.”

Hugh’s face was grave as he replied, “My lord, Bernard Radvers has been accused of murder on evidence that depends solely upon interpretation. I merely wish to show that there are other people whose actions could also be interpreted to show their guilt if one were so inclined to see them in that light.”

“Are you suggesting that one could point the finger of guilt at Sir Richard simply because he sent his squire to the Minster at the time that he did?”

“One could certainly question his actions, my lord,” Hugh returned. “It seems to me, however, that the only person whose actions have been questioned is Bernard Radvers.”

The black eyes of the justiciar bored into Hugh’s steady gray gaze. When at last Lord Richard spoke his voice was crisp. “Very well, you have made your point. Are you now finished with this witness?”

“I have just one more question, my lord,” Hugh said.

“Very well.”

Alan set his jaw, determined to say nothing that would be harmful to Richard.

Hugh said, “You told us that when you saw Bernard, knife in hand, bending over the recumbent figure of the earl, you ran down the aisle to see for yourself what had happened. Is that correct, Alan?”