Then Gervase said, “Well, we in Lincoln were certainly under the impression that the match was a settled thing. I know Bernard thought so, and that, of course, is what gives him a motive for wanting to do away with Lord Gilbert. All do know how close Bernard was to Ralf, and all do know that he would prosper if you became the Earl of Lincoln. It was to his advantage that Lord Gilbert should die.”
“If that was indeed his thinking, then surely Bernard would have been wiser to wait until after the wedding,” Hugh returned.
“Perhaps,” Gervase agreed. “But it would also have been more obvious if de Beauté died after the wedding. As it stands, no one would have suspected Bernard at all had he not been caught leaning over the body, murder weapon in hand.”
Hugh turned to Richard. “I understand Bernard was discovered by your squire.”
“That is correct,” Richard replied.
“I would like to speak to him.”
“Of course.”
Stone-faced, the two young men eyed each other. Then Hugh returned his gaze to Gervase. “And now, sir, if you don’t mind, I should like to speak to Bernard.”
“You look exhausted, lad,” the sheriff said gently. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to wait until tomorrow?”
Hugh shook his head.
“Very well.” The sheriff pushed his hip away from the table and stood upright. “I will have a guard take you to him. He is here in the castle, in one of the cells.”
Hugh stood up also, his face somber.
Gervase said kindly, “When you are finished talking to him, return here. Richard and I have a town house on the Strait. You can stay with us while you are in Lincoln.”
“You don’t have to house me, sir,” Hugh said. “I can lodge at an inn.”
Gervase said emphatically. “I refuse to send Ralf’s son to an inn. You will stay with us.”
A second before his silence became so drawn out that it would seem rude, Hugh said, “Thank you.”
Gervase escorted Hugh into the hall and signaled to a guard. Within a minute, Hugh found himself descending the stone stairs that led down into the dungeon of the castle, where accused criminals were kept.
5
Bernard Radvers was confined in one of the castle’s least noxious cells. It had a high window that allowed a small amount of light and air to enter, and the straw pallet that served as his bed was decently provided with two wool blankets. There was a also a chest and a single stone lamp, which had been lit against the gathering darkness.
No amenities, however, could disguise the fact that this was a small, cold, stinking cell, and that it would be Bernard’s last habitation on this earth unless someone else was convicted of the murder of Gilbert de Beauté.
“Hugh!”
Huddled in one of his blankets, Bernard was sitting on the chest, which provided the cell’s only seating other than the bed. His broad, middle-aged, weather-beaten face was filled with astonishment as he regarded the young man standing in the cell doorway. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to see you, of course,” Hugh replied.
“Just call out when you want to leave, my lord,” the guard said to Hugh before he backed out into the passage. He closed and locked the heavy, partially barred wooden door behind him.
Hugh looked at his father’s old friend and said in mock exasperation, “Aren’t you growing a little old for this sort of trouble, Bernard?”
At that, Bernard’s face lit with a huge smile. He got up from the chest, shed his blanket, and enveloped Hugh in an enormous hug.
The young man stood patiently, allowing himself to be embraced. When Bernard finally stepped back, Hugh let his eyes run up and down the length of the imprisoned knight.
“You look thin,” he said. “Aren’t they feeding you in here?”
Bernard grimaced. “Aye, they feed me. But my appetite isn’t quite what it used to be. I’ve a lot on my mind these days.”
Hugh continued to regard him appraisingly. “Might one of the things on your mind be an idea of who actually killed Gilbert de Beauté?”
Bernard let out a long, hissing breath. “I have had some thoughts on the subject.”
Hugh gestured to the chest. “Do you mind if we sit down?”
Bernard frowned. “Of course not, lad. You look weary.” For the first time, he appeared to notice that Hugh was dressed in mail. “Did you just arrive in Lincoln?”
“Aye.” Hugh crossed to the chest, removed the lamp that was perched on one side of it, and sat down. He pushed his mail coif off and ran his fingers through his matted-down hair. Then he rubbed his neck as if it ached.
Bernard watched him. “You should have waited before you sought me out,” he scolded. “You need a bath and a meal.”
A glimmer of amusement showed in Hugh’s gray eyes. “You needn’t sit next to me if you find my smell offensive.”
Bernard wrinkled his nose in disgust. “No smell can be as offensive as the odor of this stinking dungeon.”
Hugh’s elegant nostrils pinched together. “I have been trying not to inhale too deeply.”
Bernard grinned, reminiscing. “Ralf used to say that if ever Adela found her way down here, she would make him have every inch of the dungeon scoured with lye soap.”
Hugh smiled faintly. “That would certainly have made your stay more pleasant.”
Bernard joined him on the bench, the smile dying away from his face. “Have you heard that they found me clutching the murder weapon?” he asked.
“Aye,” Hugh replied grimly. “And I also heard of the very unwise words you apparently let drop at the Nettle.”
Bernard groaned.
Hugh said, “I want you to tell me everything you know. I want to hear everything that happened from the time that Gilbert de Beauté first entered Lincoln until the moment you found him dead in the Minster.”
The cell was so cold and damp that their breath hung in the air. Bernard coughed and lifted the rough wool blanket to drape once more around his shoulders.
“The visit actually started out well enough,” he began, and then went on to tell Hugh about the bishop’s dinner to welcome the earl and his daughter, and about the various hunting parties in which both the earl and the sheriff had taken part.
“The trouble began when de Beauté began to criticize Gervase’s military preparedness,” Bernard continued. He spoke in some detail about the defenses Lord Gilbert had proposed to supersede the ones that the sheriff had put in place.
Hugh listened in silence.
Bernard said disgustedly, “It was clear to all of us at the castle that the earl was trying to show that he had more authority than the sheriff. There is not a single thing wrong with Gervase’s military dispositions.”
He gave Hugh a sober look.
“He’s a good sheriff, Gervase Canville. He’s not Ralf-there could never be another Ralf-but he knows his job, and he executes it with judgment and intelligence.”
Hugh’s eyes were focused on his ungloved hands, which rested loosely on the skirt of his mail hauberk. He didn’t reply.
After a moment, Bernard began to recount the story of the night Gilbert de Beauté was killed.
Toward the end of his recitation, Hugh interrupted him with a question. “The message that supposedly came to you from the sheriff was verbal, not written?”
“Aye. It was brought by William Cobbett, one of the castle grooms. He told me that the sheriff wanted me to meet him in the Minster two hours after evening services were done.”
“Didn’t you think such a request was rather strange?”
“I thought it was very strange,” Bernard replied frankly. “But the groom could tell me no more.”
“Did you ask the groom if he had received the message from Gervase directly?”
“I didn’t think to ask him,” Bernard replied. “At the time, I didn’t think it was important.” He rubbed his forehead. “It’s important now, of course, because Gervase claims he sent no such message.”
Hugh drummed the fingers of his left hand with slow deliberation on the overlapping metal circles of his hauberk skirt. “So what we can assume, then, is that someone deliberately set out to lure you to the Minster at that particular hour.”