“Ivo?” Hugh said. “I thought his name was Walter.”
“Ivo was Walter’s brother.”
Hugh stiffened, as if bracing himself for a blow.
“Ivo was a splendid young man.” For the first time since they had met, a faint smile touched Alan’s lips. “You loved him. He used to let you ride in front of him on his horse. He was the one who first taught you how to shoot a bow.”
Hugh forced himself to breathe evenly, trying to slow the hammer beats of his heart.
“Ivo was deeply in love with your mother,” Alan said, “and she loved him back.”
Once more Hugh’s fingers tightened on the bridle. Sweat broke out on his forehead.
Alan’s voice went relentlessly on. “We all knew it and we all held our tongues. Ivo was well-liked by everyone and no one blamed your mother for trying to find some happiness with him. She was very lonely, Hugh.”
Hugh tried to say something and failed.
Alan said sadly, “Then Roger found out.”
Hugh’s eyes clung desperately to Alan’s face.
“You must understand Roger’s position,” the knight said. “It is every married man’s greatest fear, that shame will come to him through his wife. In these great castles, with so few women and so many men…”
Alan made a very Gallic gesture with his hand.
“What happened?” Hugh croaked.
Alan clasped his hands once again and went back to looking at them. “We warned Ivo in time for him to get away, but he wouldn’t go. He wouldn’t leave your mother to face Roger’s wrath alone. He made a mistake and he stayed.”
Hugh’s knuckles were white, he was holding the bridle so tightly.
Alan said quietly, “Your father had him taken prisoner and forcibly evicted from Chippenham. But before Ivo was taken away, Roger castrated him.”
Hugh made a sound, which he quickly tried to suppress.
The lines in Alan’s face looked as if they had been carved by a knife. He said, “Once he was away from Chippenham, and left alone, Ivo killed himself.”
Hugh bowed his head and stared blindly at the scarred top of the table. “That is…a terrible story,” he managed to say at last.
“It was very ugly,” Alan agreed. “But now you see, Hugh, why Walter Crespin would want to kill Earl Roger.”
“Aye,” said Hugh, his voice unsteady.
“It took him over a year to exact his revenge. But when Roger was found dead and Walter was missing…well, we none of us had any doubt as to what had happened.”
Hugh nodded. His fingers moved on the bridle piece.
“I don’t know why he took you with him,” Alan said. “Doing that only punished your mother. I suppose we will never know what was in his mind.”
“Perhaps he wanted to punish her. Perhaps he blamed her for what happened to Ivo,” Hugh said.
“None of us blamed your mother,” Alan replied emphatically. “And as for punishment-your father had seen to that.”
“Hugh’s head jerked up. “What did he do to her?”
“He isolated her. He isolated her so that such a thing would never happen again. Worst of all, he kept you from her. He saw her as corrupted, you see, and he was afraid that she would corrupt you as well.”
An image flashed before Hugh’s mind: Ralf standing with his hand on Adela’s shoulder and she looking up at him with a smile on her face.
He shut his eyes.
What kind of blood do I have running in my veins?
With a tremendous effort of will, he forced himself to speak calmly. “So you are telling me that Guy had no part in the murder of his brother?”
Never again would Hugh refer to Roger as his father. His allegiance was to Ralf, who had been a good man.
“That is what I am telling you, Hugh. I know that rumor has implicated Guy, and I suppose it is only natural that people should look to place the blame on the man who benefited most from Roger’s death and your disappearance. But Guy is innocent of this deed. Roger was not killed for gain. He was killed for revenge.”
Hugh put his hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet. He felt bruised all over, as if he had taken a vicious pummeling from someone’s fists.
“I thank you for telling me this,” he said carefully. “It was something I needed to know.”
The knight rose also and came around the table to stand next to Hugh.
“You will leave here, then?”
Hugh’s voice was harsh. “There seems to be little reason for me to remain.”
Alan hesitated. Then he said, “I am sorry, Hugh. I’m sorry I had such an ugly tale to tell you.”
He reached out to put a comforting hand upon Hugh’s shoulder.
Hugh flinched away from him.
Alan’s hand dropped.
“Go away before Guy can strike at you,” the knight said.
“Guy has no reason to fear me,” Hugh said bleakly. “He has had the king confirm him in his earldom.”
Alan shook his head in disagreement. “You are Roger’s son, and as such you will always be a threat to him. Leave Chippenham, Hugh. Nigel Haslin did you no favor when he told you who you are.”
Hugh picked up the candle from the table, turned, and strode out of the room. Alan could not hear the sound of his feet in his soft shoes as he ascended the stairs, but he knew that Hugh was running.
Hugh did not return to the Great Hall. Instead he continued on up the stairs, to the floor on which his bedroom was located.
He prayed that Nigel would not be there, that he would have a chance to compose himself before he had to face Cristen’s father.
The room was empty. Even William must still be downstairs with the other squires.
Thank God, Hugh thought.
He shut the door behind him and pain, sudden and violent, knifed through the left side of his head.
He stood like a statue, hoping it was just a momentary thing. Before this, his headaches had always started slowly.
The pain was white-hot and seemed to emanate from a muscle in the lower left part of his skull. It stabbed upward, behind his left eye, all the way up into his forehead.
Hugh stood at the door, rigid and quivering. No, he thought. Not now. Please, not now.
The pain did not stop.
Hugh closed his left eye and stumbled across the room toward the trunk where William had stored their belongings. Cristen had given him a packet of herbs to use in case of such an emergency. His hand was shaking as he pulled the packet out from beneath his folded clothes. He poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher standing on the room’s single small table, and mixed the herbs into it.
He drank it all.
Then he went over to the bed and lay down, his arm flung over his eyes.
He was still lying like that when William came into the room a half an hour later.
“Hugh!” the squire said in surprise. “I did not know you were here. You should have sent for me.”
“It’s all right,” Hugh said. “I’m not feeling well, William. Will you get me a basin in case I am sick?”
“Of course,” the squire said soothingly. Clearly he thought that Hugh had drank too much. “I’ll be right back.”
He brought Hugh the basin and twenty minutes later, Hugh was sick in it. He desperately wanted to tell William to go away and leave him alone, but the boy was Nigel’s squire and Nigel would want him when he came in.
An hour later, the lord of Somerford pushed open the door of the bedroom.
“Hugh,” he said angrily when he saw the supine figure on the bed. “I was worried to death about you! Why didn’t you tell me you were going upstairs?”
Hugh didn’t answer. He was at the point where he simply couldn’t.
“I think he’s had too much to drink, Sir Nigel,” William said in a low voice. “He’s been sick to his stomach.”
Nigel went over to the bed and leaned over Hugh, sniffing. “There’s no smell of wine on his breath.”
He straightened up. “Jesu Christ, could he have been poisoned?”
“No…” Hugh’s voice was a mere thread of sound. “I just…have a headache. I’ve had them before. Cristen knows.”