“Perhaps that is true of the regular garrison,” Hugh said. “But what about the men who are serving out their knight’s fee?”
Hugh was referring to the fact that the Bishop of Lincoln owed knight service to the king, and to fulfill this duty, he awarded the use of lands he owned to certain chosen knights. The knights paid for these lands by performing a month of guard service at Lincoln Castle.
Bernard’s breath wheezed audibly and he said, with a trace of excitement in his voice, “John Rye has been with the garrison this month. He has a manor north of Lincoln Fields, which he holds in knight’s fee from the bishop. I believe I heard somewhere that he is a cousin of William of Roumare.”
The two men looked at each other.
“Is this John Rye still at the castle?” Hugh asked.
Bernard frowned. “This is the last day of January. His term of service should be up tomorrow.”
“I will make sure I speak to him before he leaves,” Hugh promised.
Bernard heaved a huge sigh before saying gruffly, “I thank you for coming, lad. It is good to know that you believe in me.”
Moving slowly, Hugh stiffly got to his feet. “Your men in the castle guard believe in you, too, Bernard. It was John Melan who came to fetch me, you know.”
Bernard looked pleased. “Did he, now? I have wondered why John has not been to see me.”
Hugh headed toward the door. “Keep on thinking about this, and if you come up with any other suspects, let me know.”
Bernard stood up as well. “I will do that.”
At the door, Hugh turned around. He seemed to hesitate, then made up his mind. Holding himself very erect, he said, “What about Richard?”
“Richard?” Bernard was clearly startled. “What on earth would Richard have to gain by the death of Gilbert de Beauté?”
“He has a stake in seeing that his father retains his power as sheriff. And it was his squire who found you in the Minster.”
Bernard looked very grave. “I thought that old childhood rivalry between you and Richard would be over, now that you both have grown up.”
Hugh replied in a voice that was carefully contained. “This has nothing to do with any supposed childhood rivalry. The fact of the matter is, it was Richard’s squire who found you. And Richard could easily have given the groom a message for you saying it was from his father.”
Bernard took a few steps forward and held Hugh’s eyes with his own steady gaze. “Do you really think that Richard would kill an earl, not to mention that poor groom, because he was afraid Gervase might lose some of his power as sheriff? Richard has a bright future in front of him, Hugh. All do know that. He is far too intelligent to endanger that future in such a clumsy manner.”
Hugh didn’t reply, but his gray stare was defiant.
Bernard shook his head in bewilderment. “For some reason, you and Richard don’t like each other. You have never liked each other. Or perhaps I should say that you don’t like Richard. It has always seemed to me as if Richard would like to be friends with you.”
“Our personalities do not mesh,” Hugh said abruptly.
“That may be so, but do not let your dislike trick you into seeing things that aren’t there,” Bernard said.
For a moment, Hugh remained perfectly motionless. Then he nodded. “Fair enough.”
He turned away to face the barred window in the door and called for the knight on guard.
“Where are you staying?” Bernard asked while they waited for the guard to open the door.
A half-rueful, half-amused look came over Hugh’s face.
“With the sheriff,” he said.
The key sounded in the lock and the heavy door swung open.
“Ready to leave, my lord?” the guard asked.
“Aye,” Hugh said. He looked back at Bernard. “I will be back.”
“Good hunting, lad,” the prisoner returned. “And thank you.”
6
Alan quietly entered the bedroom where his master’s guest was soaking in the portable wooden bathtub that had been set up under a canopy to help hold the heat.
“Sir Richard sent me to assist you, my lord,” he said.
The wet black head turned toward him.
Alan, like almost every other soul in Lincoln, knew all about the boy who had grown up in town as the foster son of the sheriff and who amazingly had turned out to be the missing son of the Earl of Wiltshire. So now he looked with hidden but intense curiosity at the face that looked back at him.
It was a startlingly beautiful face. Alan stared at the light gray eyes, the thin straight nose, the high cheekbones, and severely beautiful mouth, and felt his eyes widen.
A clear, level voice said, “You can hand me that towel, if you would.”
Alan stepped forward hastily and brought the towel to the young man in the tub, who rubbed his wet hair with it and then stood up, wrapping it around himself. Deftly avoiding the canopy, he stepped onto the small rug that had been placed next to the tub.
A charcoal brazier had been lit, but the room was still cold. Lord Hugh looked at Alan. “I should like to get dressed quickly,” he said.
“Of course, my lord!” There were two piles of clothes in the room, a heap of muddy ones on the floor beside the tub, and a clean, folded set on top of the chest. Alan went to the neatly folded pile and picked it up.
He began by holding out a pair of linen drawers, which Hugh stepped into and tied at his waist. Then Hugh donned an exquisitely embroidered long-sleeved white shirt. Long hose came next, attaching to the string that held up the drawers, and then, over the shirt, a long-sleeved green wool tunic, which Hugh fastened at his neck with a plain gold brooch. The tunic came to just below the knees and was embroidered along the hem.
When Alan served his own lord, Richard always talked to him, making the squire feel as if he were a friend, not merely a faceless attendant. But Lord Hugh was silent, appearing to be preoccupied by his own thoughts. He hardly glanced at Alan.
Once the brooch had been fastened, Alan handed Hugh a soft leather belt, which he buckled around his waist. Next came a sleeveless blue surcoat, which was lined with lambskin, not fur.
Alan was a little surprised by Hugh’s clothes. They were of good quality, and well made, but they were far from new. Somehow, they were not the kind of garments that Alan expected to see the heir to an earldom wearing.
Of course, Alan thought, Hugh had not held that position for very long. Probably he had not yet had the chance to acquire a new wardrobe.
Still wrapped in silence, Hugh sat on a chest so that Alan could cross-tie his hose. Then he slipped his feet into the pair of soft, low boots that Alan knelt before him to put on. The squire buckled them securely.
In all of this time, the only words Hugh had spoken were to ask for a towel and to express a desire to dress quickly.
Alan, who had been spoiled by Richard’s very different treatment, was a little put out. He straightened up from his kneeling posture and said steadily, “Will that be all, my lord?”
Finally Hugh looked at him. Alan thought that he could almost see the preoccupation lift from the dark-fringed gray eyes. It was as if Hugh were seeing the squire for the first time. He smiled and said, “Thank you. You are very efficient.”
Pleasure out of all proportion to the measured words flooded through the young squire. He found himself smiling back. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Are you the boy who found Bernard Radvers in the Minster with the body of Gilbert de Beauté?” Hugh inquired.
Alan’s smile died. “Aye, my lord.”
“That must have been quite a shock,” Hugh said.
“Aye, my lord, that it was,” Alan returned fervently.
Hugh walked over to the room’s one small table, picked up his knife, and thrust it into the holder that hung from his belt.
“Did you actually see Bernard in the act of stabbing the earl?” he asked, turning once more to face the squire.