“In what way?” William asked.
“I don’t know,” Bascot admitted. “I don’t even know if I am right.”
The group fell silent. Gerard refilled his wine cup from a flagon standing near the hearth then offered it to his brother. William shook his head in refusal.
Finally Nicolaa spoke. “However distasteful, what we must consider is that the person who loosed that arrow at Bascot could have been one of your hunting party, Gerard. The arrow had the mark of our own castle fletcher on it. All those engaged in the hunt used his arrows.”
Her husband grunted but he let her go on. “According to what you and William have told me, all was confusion once the stag was sighted, your party splitting into two, some staying with you to bring down the boar, the others following William after the deer. Any of the men that were with either group could have slipped away, circled around the lodge and fired at Bascot, then rejoined whichever company was nearest.”
Bascot shook his head. “No, lady. All of the hunters were ahead of me when I left the bailey. I followed in their wake. None would have known of my presence in the wood. They had all left before me.”
“No, de Marins, all did not,” Nicolaa said quietly.
Bascot’s head came up sharply and he saw looks of discomfiture on the faces of the two brothers as Nicolaa went on, “My sister’s husband, Richard de Humez, left after you, along with Alain and Renault. They were late rising and caught up with the main party a short time later. From what you say they must have been only a small way behind you, may even have seen you mount your horse and ride through the gate on their way to the stables.”
“It couldn’t have been de Humez,” William said abruptly. “He was behind me when we came into the clearing, went past me on the chase for the stag.”
“Was he with you when you left Gerard?” Nicolaa asked.
William thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. He must have been.”
“Did you see him just before you reached the place where the old lodge stands?” Nicolaa persisted. “Or before that, as you rode after the stag?”
“God forfend, Nicolaa, you know how it is in a hunt,” William expostulated. “You are keeping your eye on the dogs and the quarry, not looking to see what a rider behind you may or may not be doing.” He banged his wine cup down on the table. “I do not like de Humez, but it will be a sorry day for your family, and mine, if he is found to be implicated in this crime.”
“He may not be, William. It may have been one of your squires instead. Would you rather the shadow of guilt was cast on your own household?”
The sheriff’s brother gave a groan at Nicolaa’s words and he rubbed his hand across his brow in exasperation. “By your reasoning, I myself could have loosed the arrow. Or any of the others engaged in the hunt. I did not hear de Humez or either of my squires mention they had seen de Marins on his way into the woods earlier that morning, but they could have done so, to any one of us, or just in general conversation.”
“What you say is true, William,” Nicolaa replied. “And we have a scant few days before King John arrives to learn the truth of this matter. We must try, in that short time, to discover what is at the back of this boy’s death and if it is something that might threaten the king, even if that threat comes from someone within our own households.”
She turned to Bascot. “De Marins, where before I told you to be discreet and take your time, we must now have you investigate in the open and with haste.” She looked up at her husband. “Do you agree, Gerard?”
The sheriff nodded, the thin line of his mouth compressed with distaste. Nicolaa stood up. “The boy’s uncle should arrive either today or tomorrow. Question him, de Marins-find out if he has any knowledge of his nephew being privy to a plot against the king. And question Alain and Renault again-see if they told anyone that you were in the forest ahead of them.” She glanced once again at her husband. “I will speak to de Humez.”
Bascot got up from the stool on which he had been sitting and went to the door. As he reached to open it, Gerard Camville spoke behind him. “Let us pray for God to be kind. It may still be that it was outlaws who killed the boy. If that is found to be the answer I will be pleased.”
As he shut the heavy door behind him Bascot was not sure if the sheriff’s last words had contained an expression of hope, or a threat.
Eleven
The next day the weather remained clear and cold. After the morning meal was served and eaten, a small party left the castle bail by the east gate and crossed the old Roman road of Ermine Street and entered the grounds in which the cathedral stood. Alinor had decided that a visit there would please her little brother, Baldwin, and she had asked Alys to accompany them with Alain and Hugo as escort. At the last moment, Alain had been called to attend William Camville and Renault had offered his company in his stead. As they were leaving, the page Osbert, who had taken a liking to Baldwin, asked if he could go with them. The girls had agreed and, with Baldwin seated on a small pony so that the short journey should not tire him, they had set off.
Baldwin was excited at the outing. It was not often he was well enough for more than a simple stroll in the orchard behind the fortified manor house, which Richard de Humez favoured as his primary residence, and he had begged his father to be allowed to come to Lincoln, excited at the prospect not only of seeing the king, but of visiting the cathedral. The nature of his illness, which seemed mostly to be a shortness of breath that made him weak, had caused him to be of a studious bent. He was also very devout, an instinct perhaps born of the dim realisation that it could be possible his illness would not allow him to live long enough to make old bones. With his sparse dark hair and narrow pinched face he already had the look of one older than his years. When they had arrived in Lincoln, he had gone up to the top of one of the castle towers and looked longingly at the bulk of the cathedral, its spire rising straight up into the sky beyond the castle wall, as though reaching for heaven. Perhaps it had been this excitement that had brought on a bout of his illness, for even while he had become entranced at being so near his objective, his breathing had become shallow and his throat had begun to constrict, shutting off life-giving air. He had been immediately put to bed and given a soothing drink containing poppy seed juice to calm him. A leech had been called and, after letting blood from Baldwin’s arm to restore the balance of the humours in his sickly frame, had ordered that he be kept in bed until he recovered.
That had been the day after they had arrived, almost a week ago, and now he was, if not fully recovered, at least able to stand and walk a little way without discomfort. It had been Alys’s idea for him to ride the pony and he was grateful to her for the suggestion. She had been his betrothed for many years now, since almost before he could remember, and she was dear to him, for she treated him in much the way his mother did, and with a sisterly affection that Alinor, for all that he knew she loved him, was not gentle natured enough to display.
As they crossed the broad swathe of road that was Ermine Street, a few flakes of snow fluttered through the air. The party were all well wrapped in cloaks, especially Baldwin, but still they felt the cold chill on the air, and when the cathedral bells rang out the office of Tierce, the sound seemed to shatter before it reached them, as though the bells themselves were frozen.
Renault was leading Baldwin’s pony, with Osbert striding along beside. Alys and Alinor followed, matching their steps with each other as parishioners on their way to attend Mass thronged through the gate with them. Hugo brought up the rear, his attention seemingly focused within, a frown between his heavy straight brows. The crowd around the group was thicker than usual. Word had just reached the city that Hugh, Bishop of Lincoln, who had taken ill in London some two months before, had fallen into a decline and was feared to be near death. Hugh of Avalon was a much-loved cleric, not only for his warmth and piety, but also for the many good works he had sponsored since he had taken over the bishopric fourteen years before. He had caused lazar houses to be built, taken care of the poor, and cajoled prominent citizens into helping rebuild and improve the fabric of the cathedral, badly damaged in an earthquake in 1185. His demise, if it came, would bring sorrow to all his flock, not only to the high born, but to the low as well.