The king left Somerford the following morning and the siege of Malmesbury continued. Finally, after eight days of being under constant fire, Robert fitz Hubert and his castle garrison surrendered. Conveniently for him, Robert was cousin to Stephen’s commander, William of Ypres, and it was the Fleming who arranged for Robert’s release. To no one’s surprise, once the former castellan of Malmesbury was free, he rode west to join with the Earl of Gloucester.
After his two successes in north Wiltshire, Stephen moved twenty miles south to Trowbridge, a well-fortified castle belonging to Miles of Gloucester’s son-in-law, Humphrey de Bohun. There the king began the laborious task of building siege engines to batter down the walls.
Shortly after Stephen had left the district of a devastated Malmesbury, Hugh prepared to ride northwest to Evesham in hopes of catching up with Father Anselm.
“I wish I could go with you,” Cristen said as they clung together in the night.
“I wish you could, too,” Hugh replied. His lips were buried in her hair and he inhaled the scent of lavender that always clung to its brown silkiness.
“If you need me, send and I will come.”
He laughed shakily. “Your father might have something to say about that.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said starkly. She pressed closer to him in the bed. “Nothing matters now except us.”
“Aye,” he said. He closed his eyes and relished her nearness with every pore of his body. “And that is what will keep me sane.”
He thought of this conversation the following morning as he mounted Rufus in the outer bailey and prepared to move off with the three knights Nigel had insisted on sending with him.
Cristen had not come to see him off.
“I can’t bear to see you ride away from me,” she had said last night.
“It’s all right,” he had said. “It’s all right, my love. I will be back. I promise I will be back.”
Hugh and his escort rode north to Gloucestershire and from thence they turned west, toward the vale of Evesham. It was November now and the weather had turned cold. Under their mail, Hugh and the knights wore several layers of wool shirts, and around their shoulders they wore warm wool cloaks.
Fortunately, it did not rain. The wind was sharp and chill, but the sun shone most of the time. The forest trees were almost bare and the paths were covered by the leaves that had fallen during the last month. As they passed the scattered assarts that small farmers had cut out of the woods, they could smell the fragrance of burning charcoal.
Hugh remembered the last time he had made the journey from Evesham to Somerford. He had been running from his mother then. He still did not know why he had this feeling about her. As Cristen had said, if Alan’s story was true, she was very much to be pitied.
Did she love me, I wonder? Hugh thought. Or was I too much of a reminder of the husband she did not like?
It didn’t matter if Isabel had loved him or not, Hugh told himself firmly. He had had Adela. She had been more than mother enough for him.
It was late in the afternoon and the gray of evening had started to set in, by the time Hugh and his party reached the walls of Evesham. The knights on gate duty recognized him and let him in. With a trepidation he tried to deny even to himself, Hugh approached the formidable stone walls of the castle.
He hoped she wasn’t there.
Philip Demain couldn’t believe his eyes when Hugh walked into the Great Hall of Evesham.
The incredible nerve of the man! After the way he had behaved to Isabel, to return here as if assured of a welcome!
Philip simply couldn’t believe it.
Simon had been sharing a cup of wine with a group of his knights in front of the fire, and he too looked amazed when he saw who had come into his hall.
“Hugh,” he said in astonishment.
Everyone seated by the fire watched in silence as the slim young man crossed the floor. The only sound in the huge hall was the roaring of the fire and the clinking of his spurs.
Hugh stopped when he was still a few feet away from Simon. “My lord,” he said respectfully. “I am sorry to have arrived unannounced like this. If I am not welcome, I will go away.”
He was carrying his helmet under his arm. His fine-boned face that was so like his mother’s was framed by his mail coif. His skin was red from the cold.
Philip longed to make a cutting remark to him, but there was something about Hugh’s expression that warned him off.
“I did not expect to see you here again,” Simon said. His own face was stern. “You left us so…precipitously…the last time you visited.”
“I am sorry for that,” Hugh said.
“It is not me to whom you owe an apology,” Simon said grimly. “It is to your mother.”
Philip saw a flash of quickly suppressed emotion flicker across Hugh’s guarded face. “I realize that,” he said quietly. “Is she still at Evesham?”
“Unfortunately, she is not,” Simon said. “She went back to the convent in Worcester right after you left us.”
Philip, watching Hugh closely, saw the relief that he could not quite disguise.
“I see,” he said.
The scene in the hall had frozen into a tableau. The squires, who were playing dice around one of the trestle tables, had stopped their game. The pages, who were sitting on a bench along the wall kicking their heels and waiting to pour more wine for the knights, had ceased their low chatter. The knights around the fire sat in dead silence, staring at Hugh.
“Why have you come here?” Simon asked his nephew. “Was it just to offer your apologies?”
Against all the laws of hospitality, he was keeping Hugh, who was still dressed in full mail, standing while the rest of the men around the fire remained seated, wine cups in hand.
Hugh did not seem at all discomposed by his position. He stood easily, his feet a little apart, one arm cradling his helmet, the other hanging loosely at his side. He still wore his gloves.
He said, “Actually, I came to see Father Anselm, sir. Is he still at Evesham?”
“No, he is not. He left to return to the cathedral in Winchester two days ago.”
Hugh’s expression never altered. “I see. Well, if I may beg your hospitality for the night, I will be on my way again in the morning.”
Simon’s eyes narrowed. “You are going to go to Winchester?”
“Aye,” Hugh replied simply.
Simon frowned. Then he waved toward the squires who were gathered around trestle table throwing dice. They, like everyone else in the hall, had stopped all activity and were silently watching Hugh.
“Someone come here immediately and disarm my nephew,” the lord of Evesham said impatiently, as if it were the squires’ fault that Hugh had been kept standing.
Two squires jumped up and ran to assist Hugh. For a long minute the only noise in the hall was the jingle of sword belt and spurs being removed, the rattle of a mail coat as it was pulled over the head.
Finally Hugh stood before them in his wool shirt and padded leather jerkin. There was a faint mark around his neck where the mail coat had chafed him.
“Sit down,” Simon said, waving toward a stool that was placed next to his own high-backed chair.
Hugh obeyed. He sat easily, making it look as if the backless stool was the most comfortable seat in the world.
“We heard that the king was besieging Malmesbury,” Simon said. “Is it true?”
“Aye,” Hugh replied. “Robert fitz Hubert and his garrison surrendered a few days ago.”
Simon waved to a page to bring Hugh some wine.
“We heard that as well,” Philip said in a hard voice.
With a courteous nod of thanks, Hugh accepted a cup of wine from the page.
“Where is Stephen now?” Simon asked. “Do you know?”
He stared at his nephew as if he were issuing a challenge.
Hugh sipped his wine and replied calmly, “I believe he has gone to Trowbridge.”