“Unfortunately,” Hugh said, “the match has apparently given Bernard a reason to wish de Beauté dead. It is well known in Lincoln that Bernard was a close friend of my foster father’s. In fact, before we marched north to the Battle of the Standard, Ralf made Bernard promise that he would look after me if aught should happen to him.”
Hugh’s face was bleak as he said these words. As Nigel and Cristen knew, Ralf Corbaille had been killed at the Battle of the Standard. It was in the aftermath of that very battle that Nigel had first laid eyes upon Hugh and marked his resemblance to the lost heir of the de Leons.
Cristen said thoughtfully, “It looks as if someone murdered Lord Gilbert and arranged to throw the blame on Bernard.”
“That is certainly what it looks like,” Hugh agreed.
“You had better go to Lincoln and look into the matter,” she said briskly. “This knight would not have traveled so long a way to fetch you if things did not look bad for Bernard.”
Hugh met her eyes, his face very somber.
She looked back, her brown eyes clear and calm. “You have to go, Hugh,” she said. “You know that.”
Nigel looked from his daughter to Hugh, then back again to his daughter. They were looking at each other as if he were not there.
“Perhaps you can take the opportunity to pay a visit to Keal,” Cristen suggested. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea to check on your chief manor while you are in Lincolnshire. You can make certain that everything is as it should be.”
At her words, a faint smile touched Hugh’s mouth. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea,” he agreed.
As too often happened, Nigel had the uneasy feeling that the two young people were communicating in a way that he couldn’t comprehend.
He scowled and said crossly, “It’s time for bed.”
Two pairs of eyes, gray and brown, regarded him with tolerant affection.
“Aye, Father,” Cristen said. “It is important for you to get your rest. You have still not regained all of your strength.”
Nigel folded his arms and did not move. “I will go to bed when the two of you do.”
Hugh got promptly to his feet. “I am going, sir. I need my rest also if I am going to ride for Lincolnshire in the morning.”
Cristen came and slipped a hand under her father’s elbow. “Come along, Father. I will find William and send him to help you undress.”
Nigel didn’t know why he felt so grumpy. “Oh, all right,” he said, and stumped off to his bedroom.
Cristen and Hugh looked at each other.
Later, they told each other silently.
The dogs, who had got up when Cristen did, came to press against her skirts. She turned to bring them into the great hall, so that Brian could take them for their last outing before sleep.
4
The cold weather lifted the morning that Hugh left Somerford with John Melan. Instad of jarring their legs on iron-hard roads, the horses had to wade through a sea of mud for the several days it took for them to accomplish the journey to Lincoln.
Ever since the days when the Roman legions had ruled Britain, a city had been set on the limestone ridge where the River Witham bent sharply east toward the sea. The old Roman fortifications still formed the walls of twelfth-century Lincoln, although the Roman streets, sewers, and buildings had mostly disappeared.
As Hugh rode along the Fosse Way, his mind turned back to the time he had first come to Lincoln. He had been eight years old and running away from the men who had kidnapped him from his home. Until a few months ago, his first memory of his life had been of Ralf dragging him out of his hiding place on a bitter January night and taking him home to Adela.
On this last day of January when Hugh and John Melan rode their mud-splattered horses toward Lincoln, the weather was humid and warm, not frigid as it had been on that night thirteen years before when Ralf had rescued Hugh. And Hugh was twenty-one now, not eight. But as he stared at the towering heights of Lincoln Castle, perched so intimidatingly on its limestone ridge, he felt once again all the desolation of an abandoned child.
He still missed them. He would always miss them: Ralf and Adela, the parents of his heart.
He shut his eyes, and thought of Cristen, and felt better.
He heard John say, “We had best go to see Sir Gervase first. I didn’t tell him where I was going when I asked for leave. I just said I thought I knew someone who could help Bernard.”
For the first time, Hugh realized that he didn’t want to see Gervase Canville. He had nothing against the man, but he didn’t want to see anyone else in Ralf’s place. He had not set foot in Lincoln since Ralf was killed.
He drew a deep breath and said, “Aye. It would be best to see Sir Gervase first.”
Lincoln was a large city, with a population of more than five thousand people. Most of the houses the two men passed as they rode up the main street belonged to the city burgesses. At one time the majority of the houses in Lincoln had been made of wood, but a fire in 1122 had destroyed a great part of the city, and much of the rebuilding had been done in stone.
A group of boys playing in the street with a leather ball stuffed with straw caught Hugh’s eye. They brought back a memory of the time when he had been part of precisely such a noisy, shouting pack of youngsters. Ralf would collect him on his way home from the castle to supper…
It was late afternoon and already beginning to grow dark. Hugh was sweaty and itchy and dirty and hungry, and his stallion, Rufus, was the same.
He felt a stab of longing so sharp that it was almost physically painful. If only he could go home! Ralf would see that Rufus was cared for, and Adela would fill the big tub for him, and…
He compressed his lips in a hard, straight line.
He had not thought it would be so hard to see Lincoln again.
Lincoln Castle had been built at the order of William the Conqueror himself. The castle was guarded most closely by a shell keep, or inner wall, constructed on top of the steep hill, or motte, upon which the castle keep was perched. Steep stairs led from the keep down to the inner bailey, a large courtyard of about six acres encircled by a second stone wall. In Lincoln this inner bailey was called the Inner bail.
The Inner bail was the heart of Lincoln’s garrison. The knights who served on the castle guard lived there, housed in wooden huts. Also inside its walls were a stockade and stables for the knights’ horses. All of their food, drink, and weapons were stored in this area as well.
Surrounding this military compound was the outer bailey, an immense space partly enclosed by a section of the old Roman city walls. In Lincoln this outer bailey was called simply the Bail and within its enclosure lay the Minster and the bishop’s house.
Dusk was gathering when Hugh and John rode through the old Roman gate into the Bail. Hugh started with surprise at the line of merchant’s stalls set up along the east wall.
“This is something new,” he remarked to John. There was a faint line between his brows. “Since when have merchants been allowed in here?”
“Since about six months ago,” John replied. “The sheriff had the idea to rent some parts of the Bail to local merchants. The rent they pay has been a useful addition to our defense funds.”
“I see,” Hugh said. But the frown did not lift from his face.
The two rode on, and reached the gate to the Inner bail, where Hugh was recognized by one of the guards on duty.
“Hugh!” the guard boomed in a voice that had to be audible clear to the castle. “By God, it’s Hugh Corbaille himself! Welcome back to Lincoln! It’s about time you paid us a visit.”
“Thank you, Odo,” Hugh replied pleasantly.
Odo’s greeting acted as a catalyst for the rest of the knights in the courtyard to spin around and come running. Within a minute, Hugh found himself surrounded by a crowd of men who were all talking to him at once. He laughed and held up a hand as if to defend himself.