“Nay, my lord,” Alan replied. He stood erect, with his arms hanging stiffly at his sides. “I never said I saw that. What I saw was Bernard leaning over the earl. The earl was already dead when I came into the church.”
“How do you know that?”
For some indefinable reason, Alan felt he had been put on the defensive. He lifted his chin a little as he answered. “I know it because Bernard told me that Lord Gilbert had been murdered and that I should send for the sheriff. And I came close enough to see Lord Gilbert’s body for myself, so I knew that what Bernard said was true, my lord.”
Hugh nodded and regarded Alan thoughtfully. “What did you think had happened?”
“I did not know what had happened, my lord, but Bernard was holding a knife in his hand, and the knife had blood on it.”
“Did you think that Bernard had killed the earl?”
“I thought he might have, my lord,” Alan replied deliberately. “But, as I have already said, I didn’t see him do it. I only saw him kneeling there.”
Hugh nodded gravely. “I see.”
His gray eyes studied Alan for a moment in silence. Alan stared back at him a little defiantly. He felt as if he were being interrogated, and he did not like the feeling. He was also slightly intimidated, which he liked even less.
Hugh said, “I have known Bernard Radvers for almost all my life, and I cannot and will not believe that he has done this thing of which he stands accused. I have come to Lincoln to see if I can discover the real culprit. I would be grateful if you would tell me anything you know that might have a bearing on this business.”
Alan said stiffly, “I know nothing except what I have already told you, my lord.”
Hugh looked as if he did not believe him. “I see. Well, if you should think of anything, or hear anything, I hope you will come to me.”
“Of course, my lord,” Alan said, even more stiffly than before.
An oddly bleak look came across Hugh’s face. “And now,” he said, “I suppose I had better join the others.”
“I believe they are waiting supper for you, my lord,” Alan said.
“That was kind,” said Hugh, but he did not sound as if he meant it.
Gervase Canville’s town house was one of the newer stone buildings in Lincoln. It was two-storied, and boasted one attic window in its steeply pitched roof. The street door was on the ground floor, which contained the kitchen and the storerooms. The main living room, the solar, was on the second floor, and featured a fireplace built into the wall immediately over the front door. The smoke from the fireplace escaped through flues fashioned to come out on each side of the outside buttress.
Along with other furniture, the room contained a table with four carved chairs set around it. It was at this table that Alan served supper to the sheriff, his son, and his guest.
Gervase had owned the house for less than a year and he was exceedingly proud of it. Alan suspected that he had invited Hugh to stay in order to show off his house to the prospective earl.
Supper was a simple but ample meal. Alan was surprised by how abstemiously Hugh ate. It was almost rude, the squire thought disapprovingly, to eat so little when so much was provided.
The meal only served to confirm Alan’s earlier unfavorable impression of Hugh de Leon. Most particularly, the squire did not care for the way Lord Hugh treated Sir Richard. The sheriff’s son spent the entire evening going out of his way to be friendly and courteous, and instead of responding in kind, Lord Hugh was closemouthed and chilly.
As he was undressing Richard for bed later that night, Alan commented tentatively, “Lord Hugh is not very talkative, is he, my lord?”
Richard gave his squire a charming, rueful look. “He has never talked very much to me, I’m afraid.”
“Why is that, my lord?” Alan asked in genuine bewilderment.
Richard smiled and reached out to tousle Alan’s flaxen hair. “Not everyone thinks I’m as wonderful as you do,” he said with amusement.
“They certainly do, my lord!” Alan replied immediately.
Richard shook his head. “Hugh and I have known each other since we were children together at the Minster school. For some reason, I think he has always seen himself as being in competition with me. He was the sheriff’s son then, and he thought he should be better in everything than everyone else. He did not like it when anyone bested him.”
Alan slid Richard’s shirt off his shoulders and looked with pride at the half-naked body of his lord. No one was as splendid as Richard, he thought. Why, Hugh was not much taller than Alan himself. Next to Richard, Hugh looked small.
He nodded wisely. “I see.”
“The annoying thing is that I like Hugh,” Richard said. “I have always wanted to be friends with him. But he holds me at a distance. He always has.”
Alan folded Richard’s shirt and put it down on a chest. He picked up a fur-lined bedrobe and said, “He is jealous of you, my lord.”
“He has no cause to be,” Richard said. “Hugh is extraordinarily competent at everything he does. And he is an earl’s son! He certainly has no reason to envy me.”
“Anyone would envy you, my lord,” Alan said with absolute conviction.
Richard laughed. “Yours is hardly an objective opinion, Alan.”
The squire held up the bedrobe for Richard to slip his arms into. “He asked me a lot of questions about that night in the Minster,” he said with a troubled frown.
Richard nodded serenely. “He asked me if he might talk to you and I said that he could.”
Alan’s brow cleared. As the evening had progressed, he had begun to wonder if he should have talked to Hugh at all. Although, to be truthful, there was something about the earl’s son that made it difficult for Alan to picture refusing him.
“He told me,” said the young squire, “that he doesn’t believe Bernard is guilty, my lord. He said that he is going to look for the real murderer.”
Richard tied the sash of his deep blue robe. “I hope he does find someone else. I would hate to see Bernard hang.”
Alan picked up Richard’s boots to take them to the kitchen to clean. “Do you believe Bernard did it, my lord?”
Richard’s face was sober. “I don’t want to believe it but, unfortunately, I haven’t been able to think of anyone else to put in his place.”
Alan clutched the boots. “I think he did it, my lord. He was kneeling right over the earl. And he was holding the knife!”
Richard sighed. “I know, Alan. I know.”
He looked tired, and Alan thought with sudden contrition that he was keeping Richard up with his chatter. “Is there aught else I can do for you, my lord?”
“No, thank you, Alan. I will wish you good night.”
“Good night, my lord,” Alan replied, bowed, and withdrew to go and clean Richard’s boots before seeking his own bed in the attic.
There was frost on the ground the following morning. The warm spell had snapped during the night, and the ground was once more frozen and hard.
Hugh broke his fast in the room where he had eaten supper the previous night. Once again, the only others at table were Gervase and Richard. As had been the case in Ralf’s town house, the rest of the household took their meals in the kitchen.
Gervase’s house was much larger than Ralf’s town house had been, however. The number of rooms was the same, but the Canville rooms were more than twice the size of those in the house where Hugh had grown up.
In truth, Hugh was a little surprised to see how very well Gervase seemed to live. He had always thought that the Canvilles inhabited the same social and economic level as the Corbailles. Like Ralf, Gervase owned several manors within the shire, which had been given to his father by the old king, Henry I. And like Ralf, Gervase swore his feudal oath directly to the king himself.
When Ralf had died, leaving only one foster son who was just twenty, Gervase had been the most likely candidate to become the new sheriff.