His old wool blankets were still on it. Hugh crawled in between the icy sheets and pulled the blankets up over him. The pain stabbed on, and he began to shiver with cold.
He gritted his teeth and prepared to endure.
Towards dawn the pain let up, and Hugh fell into an exhausted sleep. He awoke hours later, shivering and stiff with cold, but his head was clear. The window shutters were closed and locked, and his bedroom was dark. The room smelled of vomit.
Hugh got out of bed and went to the window to open the shutters. It was sunny outside, midmorning, and the breeze that streamed in through the open window was warmer and cleaner than the reeking frigid air in the bedroom.
Hugh stood for a moment, inhaling deeply. Then, slowly, he turned and looked at the small room revealed by the streaming sunlight.
His old bedroom. His one-time refuge.
He remembered the first night he had spent in this house. He remembered how Adela had tucked him into this very bed and bent to kiss him good-night.
Never fret, my lamb. I won’t let any more harm befall you.
He could almost hear her voice echoing in the emptiness of the room.
Moving stiffly from the cold, Hugh went out onto the landing. For a long moment, he stood in front of the closed door that was next to his. Then, with a movement that was almost violent, he shoved it open.
The shutters were closed in here, too, the only light being that which seeped in between the shutters and the window.
For a long moment, Hugh looked at the big bed that Ralf and Adela had shared and in which Adela had died.
Then he shut the door and almost ran down the stairs.
The solar was much smaller than the one in Gervase’s house. There was no fireplace, only a central hearth with smoke holes along the top of the wall.
Three chairs were arranged around the hearth. After Adela had died, Hugh and Ralf had left her chair in its usual place.
Slowly Hugh walked to the hearth and sat in the chair that once had belonged to Ralf. He ran his hands up and down the wooden arms. He shut his eyes, as if trying to feel his foster father’s presence.
He heard Ralf’s voice inside his head, heard him saying the words he had so often tried to impress upon Hugh.
Patience, son. That is your one great flaw-you have no patience. Not everyone is as clever as you are. You must give people time to find their own way to the conclusion you have already reached.
The room was bitterly cold and chillingly empty. Adela and Ralf were gone.
Hugh bent his head and cried.
That same morning, Lady Elizabeth de Beauté went, as usual, to the ten o’clock mass in the Minster. As she was returning to the castle to break her fast, she and Lady Sybil were intercepted by Richard Canville.
“Lady Elizabeth,” the young knight said with a courteous bow. “Lady Sybil. Have you been to mass? May I escort you back to the castle?”
“Thank you, Sir Richard,” Lady Sybil said. “That is kind of you.”
Richard fell into step with the two women as they continued to walk across the Bail. Several men of the castle guard rode past them. They saluted Richard and looked surreptitiously at Elizabeth, who appeared not to notice.
“So, my lady,” Richard said to Elizabeth after the men had ridden by, “did you finally get to meet Lincoln’s most famous foundling?” There was a trace of amusement in his voice.
Elizabeth glanced up at Richard, who topped her by a full head. “That I did, Sir Richard,” she replied demurely. “He came to call upon me yesterday afternoon.”
“He is certainly a good-looking young man,” Lady Sybil said.
“Hugh is magnificent,” Richard agreed amiably. “And he is smart as well.”
“My,” said Elizabeth sweetly. “You are making me sorry that I am not going to marry him after all.”
Richard replied with good humor. “You and Hugh would not deal well, my lady. For all his gifts, Hugh has an icicle where his heart should be.”
“Do you think I need a man who is…ah…warmer?” Elizabeth asked innocently.
Lady Sybil frowned.
“I’m quite sure you do,” Richard replied softly.
A small smile curled the corners of Elizabeth’s mouth.
“Lady Elizabeth will marry whomever the king tells her to,” Lady Sybil said sternly.
Elizabeth patted her companion’s arm. But her eyes lifted once again to Richard.
9
Cristen was in the pantry at Somerford making sure that the shelves had been scoured according to her standards when she felt Hugh’s distress. Without a word to the servants, who were anxiously watching her as she inspected their work, she turned and left, heading for the privacy of her bedroom.
Once she reached the solar she changed her mind, however, and instead of going into her own room she went into the one that belonged to Hugh. She crossed the floor, sat on the edge of his bed, and closed her eyes.
No words formed in her mind. She sensed no attempt on his part to communicate with her. She felt only this utter desolation. It filled her mind and her heart, and she knew that it was Hugh.
He could not be left alone.
She sat there on his bed, in his room, and tried to let him know that she was there. She tried to fill the pain and loneliness within her with comfort and love. After a while she felt she might have succeeded. The bleakness lightened. The sharp edge of pain dulled. She felt calm.
At last she was free to turn to the difficult task that lay ahead. However was she going to convince her father that she must go to Lincoln?
Cristen was still mulling over this problem when she joined Nigel for midday dinner in the great hall. They were halfway through the meat course when the door opened and a strange man dressed in a mail hauberk strode into the room. In the fist of his gloved right hand he carried a rolled parchment.
He wore no helmet, and Cristen recognized him as one of Earl Guy’s household knights.
The man advanced to stand before the head table, where he bowed to Nigel and announced, “Sir Nigel, I come from Lord Guy bearing a message for you. I am sorry to interrupt your dinner, but it is urgent.”
Nigel frowned and reached out his hand for the parchment. The knight stepped closer to the table and passed it up to the lord of Somerford.
Thanks to the proliferation of church and public schools, much of the English population could both read and write. There were exceptions, of course. The lowest of the low did not have the opportunity to learn, and the highest of the high did not feel the necessity. Nigel, who belonged to neither of these classes, unrolled the parchment that contained the message from his overlord, and read it through.
The friendly chatter that had filled the hall before the entrance of the knight from Chippenham had long since died away. The hall was silent. Every eye was on Nigel as he read.
He looked somber as he rerolled the parchment and turned his attention to Guy’s messenger.
“Do you know aught of this Cornish rebellion?” he asked. “I thought that Stephen’s man in Cornwall, William fitzRichard, was a loyal follower of the king. Stephen has certainly gifted him handsomely with land and castles.”
“Aye. Well, apparently fitzRichard has changed his allegiance. What happened was that the Earl of Gloucester proposed a marriage between his half brother, Reginald, and fitzRichard’s daughter. The prospect of being related through marriage to both the empress and Gloucester proved more attractive to fitzRichard than his loyalty to the king. So the marriage was accomplished, and fitzRichard turned all his lands over to his new son-in-law, who promptly declared for the empress.”
Nigel frowned. “Reginald is another one of the old king’s bastard sons, is he not?”