Cedric led the way across the floor to the dais. He sat down in one of the chairs and gestured for Hugh to do the same.
“Witgar,” he called toward the group of men, “have one of the women fetch us some ale.”
A man got up and went out the door, and Cedric turned back to his uninvited guest.
Hugh said, “I am investigating the murder of the Earl of Lincoln.”
Cedric’s blue eyes were cold. “My understanding is that the murderer has been caught.”
“The sheriff has arrested someone, but I think he has the wrong man.”
A long minute ticked by as the two young men regarded each other, rather in the manner of two wrestlers assessing each other’s strength. Finally Cedric said, “And what does the murder of the Earl of Lincoln have to do with us here at Deerhurst?”
Hugh spoke blunt words in his softest voice. “It is well known that your father had reason to hate de Beauté. I am simply trying to eliminate as many possible suspects as I can in the hopes of eventually isolating the real killer. If your father can demonstrate he was elsewhere on the night of the murder, he will make my task that much easier.”
“Why don’t you think the man they have is the real killer?” Cedric asked.
Hugh’s relaxed hands were lying palm-down on the carved wooden arms of his chair. “He swears he is innocent and, as he happens to be a friend of mine, I believe him. I am trying to discover the truth before they hang the wrong man.”
Cedric leaned back in his chair and regarded Hugh with palpable irony. “It would be so much nicer if you could hang a Saxon, wouldn’t it?”
“It would be so much nicer if we could hang a murderer,” Hugh retorted. “I have no interest in convicting an innocent man, be he my friend or your father.”
Cedric said flatly, “There is nothing that ties my father to the death of the earl.”
Hugh gazed at one of the spears hanging on the wall to his right. It was a heavy thrusting spear, its head richly inlaid with copper and bronze.
It must be a ceremonial weapon, he thought. You wouldn’t use such a spear in battle.
Slowly Hugh returned his eyes to Edgar Harding’s son. “There might be,” he said. “Your father knew exactly how the earl was killed, and that information has not been made public. I would be interested to learn how he acquired that particular knowledge. I would also like to know where he was on the night Lord Gilbert was murdered. Neither question should pose a problem to an innocent man.”
A woman carrying a goblet in each hand came in from the porch and began to cross the floor in the direction of the dais.
“You requested ale, master,” she said to Cedric in English as she came up to him.
“Thank you, Hilda,” Cedric said. He took both goblets from her and handed one to Hugh. The woman turned and recrossed the floor toward the door.
Hugh took a sip of his ale and waited.
Cedric didn’t drink, but instead looked intently at the liquid in his cup. At last, still staring into his goblet, he said, “I can tell you where my father was on the night the earl was murdered. He was here at Deerhurst.”
“I see,” Hugh said neutrally. “And you remember that clearly?”
Finally Cedric lifted his eyes from his cup and looked at Hugh. “I remember it very clearly. It was the night of my sister’s betrothal and we held a feast right here in the hall. My father presided.”
Hugh held Cedric’s steady blue stare.
“Your father was here all night?”
“He was here all night.”
Hugh said gently, “Well then, that resolves that particular problem, doesn’t it?” He put his unfinished ale on the floor next to his chair and stood up. “Thank you for your assistance, Harding. I will be on my way.”
“I’ll have them bring you your horse,” Cedric returned.
In silence the two young men, so similar in build, one fair and one dark, walked across the hall and went out the door.
Some minutes later, as he was riding back toward Lincoln, Hugh reflected upon what he had learned at Deerhurst.
Cedric Harding had to have been telling the truth about the betrothal feast. He would not dare to alter the date of such an event; too many people were involved in such an affair to make for a successful lie.
On the other hand, Hugh thought, the feast probably started well before dark. He had little doubt that by the time evening fell, most of the men in the hall would have been drunk. It would not have been that difficult for Harding to slip out unnoticed and ride into Lincoln. Everyone would have thought he had gone to his bed to sleep off the excess wine.
How did he know about the stab wound to the heart?
Hugh scowled in frustration. His visit to Deerhurst had left him in the same position he had been in before he went. He had no proof that Edgar Harding had killed the earl, but neither did he have proof that he had not.
In fact, he thought, he may very well have added another suspect to his list. Harding’s son seemed fully as inimical to Normans as was his father.
In his mind’s eye Hugh saw again the cold blue eyes of the young Saxon. Cedric Harding did not appear to be the sort of young man who would flinch from murder if he thought he had provocation enough.
Hugh stared bleakly at the heights of Lincoln Castle in the distance. I am getting nowhere with this investigation, he thought in frustration. If I don’t come up with something solid soon, Bernard is going to hang.
16
Alan had not been happy when first Richard told him that he was to run errands for Cristen while she was caring for Bernard. There were plenty of others who could have been given such a menial task, he thought. Alan’s job was to serve as a knight’s squire, not as a sickroom servant.
He felt much better, however, when Richard took him aside later in the armory hall and made his assignment clearer.
“I don’t trust Hugh,” Richard said. “He obviously has Lady Cristen under his thumb, and I fear that he might persuade her to enter into a scheme to help Bernard escape.” Richard’s blue eyes were somber. “If that should happen, it would not look good for my father.”
“That is so, my lord,” Alan agreed.
As he and Richard were speaking, a few of the de Beauté knights came into the hall. They were carrying bows and talking and laughing among themselves. As they passed by, several of them nodded a greeting to Richard.
When they had gone, Richard put an affectionate hand upon his squire’s shoulder. “That is your real job, Alan: making sure that there is no embarrassing escape. You are to keep an eye on Lady Cristen at all times. You are to let me know when Lord Hugh comes to visit her and, if possible, what they talk about.”
Color rose under the boy’s fair, beardless skin. “Aye, my lord,” he said earnestly. “I understand. I promise I will not fail you.”
Richard’s hand tightened slightly. “I know you won’t.”
At the note of approval in Richard’s voice, Alan’s color rose even higher.
So it was that on Saturday afternoon, when Alan began his service with Cristen, he felt as if he were on a holy mission. It did not take him long to realize, however, that Bernard Radvers was seriously ill. He was so ill, in fact, that Alan strongly doubted he was in any condition to attempt an escape.
Lady Cristen was tireless in her attendance upon the sick man. During the periods when Bernard slept, she remained in her own room, which had a door that opened directly into Bernard’s, and she and her attendant lady sewed shirts for the household at Somerford.
Alan sat on a chair by the door and waited to run errands, which consisted mainly of arranging for water and food. It was very dull.
Cristen evidently understood the tedium of her companions, for she sent Mabel to take her supper with Lady Elizabeth’s household, and after she and Alan had eaten, she asked him if he would like to challenge her to a game of chess.