Lord of Midnight (44 page)

“Of course I did. Lord Renald sent half the escort back. That’s why I came.”

“And you think you know who was behind it?”

“Eudo the Sheriff,” said Felice smugly.

“Ewdo? What possible reason—”

“See! I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Renald would have.”

“I don’t know why you think that.” Claire smothered the urge to bicker. “Felice, I’m sorry, but you must admit that it’s shocking. Tell me why. You’ve never been given to wild fancies.”

“All right.” But Felice still sulked. “Not long after you left to come here, Eudo arrived, saying he wanted to ask more questions about Ulric’s death. I doubted that. I saw no evidence all along that he was really trying to find the killer. Well, of course not. He killed Ulric.”

“Eudo!” But Claire managed to make it sound astonished rather than disbelieving.

“To hide his involvement in the rebellion.”

Claire closed her eyes then opened them again. “Felice, can we start at the beginning?”

Her aunt cocked her head and frowned over it. “No, not really. I have to tell this as it came to me. First, Eudo turning up like that. I wondered what he was up to so I kept an eye on him. As I thought, he hardly spoke to anyone about the murder. But he did try to sneak into the solar a couple of times.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Really, Claire. I think your husband has humped the brains right out of you! He wanted Clarence’s book.”

“Eudo!” And now it was a gasp of recognition. “Of course.
He
was the one who mentioned my leaving a book by the window. He knew because he’d seen it there. In fact, he’d stolen it, but it turned out to be my record book.”

“Quite. And he went to the trouble to bring it back. He must be fond of you.”

She managed to make that slightly salacious. Claire just said, “He respects books. Fondness didn’t stop him attacking me on the road to get Father’s book. But why want me dead?”

Felice shrugged. “I think he’s beyond reason with fear.”

“Because,” said Claire, hardly listening, “he saw me reading it and feared I knew whatever it contained.”

“What it contained, I assume, was that he, like Clarence, supported Duke Robert.”

“I only saw an oblique mention. It was hardly incriminating. And even so—”

“Better safe than sorry.”

Claire shook her head. “I can’t believe Eudo would want me murdered just in case I’d read something. After all, most of the rebels have been let off lightly.”

“Clarence died.”

“But only because he insisted on the court battle. At worst, Eudo would have been fined. After all, as best I can tell he didn’t join the rebels. He only talked about it a lot.”

“Ah,” said Felice, “but he killed Ulric. Everyone knows King Henry has pledged to uphold the law. If that crime came out, at the least Eudo would cease to be sheriff—the king’s representative in legal matters.”

“So why kill Ulric?”

“Because of being sheriff. The king has refused to let rebels administer the law. Eudo’s proud of his rank. Proud that it’s passed through his family for generations. He couldn’t risk losing that. He must have thought it so easy. A servant alone in the garden. But then of course you wouldn’t let it lie.”

“Ulric turned up,” Claire said, “and Eudo panicked. But he wasn’t part of the rebellion. We’d have known.”

“I think it must have been like this. Clarence rode out with only Ulric in attendance, and he’d arranged to meet Eudo. They were supposed to join Duke Robert’s forces together. Eudo must have kept the rendezvous.”

“With his own man!” Claire covered her mouth with her hand. “He died, too.” Chilled by this sequence of deaths, Claire rose to pace, thinking it through.

“Eudo talked a lot about supporting Duke Robert,” she said, “but he never expected Father to put it into action. No one did. When Father proposed joining the rebellion, Eudo must have been horrified. But he went along with it because he didn’t want to look a coward. But, when the day came, he changed his mind.”

“Probably tried to talk Clarence out of it,” Felice said. “Talk is his main weapon.”

“Not anymore.” Claire shivered at the memory of that voice whispering,
Kill her
.

“He doubtless thought he’d succeed. Who’d think Clarence would stick to a violent course?”

“But in the end,” said Claire, “Eudo turned back. I wonder when he began to fear that ride had been treasonous?”

“Not, at least, until after Duke Robert fled, leaving Henry in full power.”

“When we heard that rebels were being fined and removed from offices, Eudo must have been on needles waiting for Father to reveal his part. And then Father died. No one knew. He was safe.”

“Until Ulric appeared.”

“Angels! Sigfrith
said
Eudo was one of the people who’d spoken to Ulric. That must have been when he arranged to meet him. Once Ulric was dead, he must have thought he was really safe. Until the book turned up. No wonder he was so desperate to read it.” She looked at Felice. “But how can we prove any of this?”

“If we bring this to the king, he’ll order Eudo put to the ordeal. That will prove his guilt.”

Claire shuddered. Ordeal again. Hot iron, cold water, or battle.

With hot iron, the accused had to hold a red-hot iron rod. If at three days the wound had not festered, then God showed that he was innocent. By cold water, the accused was bound and lowered into water. If the water rejected him, if he floated, his guilt was proved. If he sank he was hauled out, proven innocent.

She prayed that Eudo be put to the more merciful cold water.

Surely he wouldn’t demand the third option, ordeal by battle. Though fit and trained, Eudo was not really a warlike man.

He had the right, however, to demand to fight his accuser, or his accuser’s champion and he might feel his dignity demanded it. In that case, who but Renald would be put to oppose him? He’d said he prayed never to have to fight that way again.

And what if they were wrong?

Renald would die.

“Well?” asked Felice. “Do you not agree?”

“What if we’re wrong? What if he’s innocent?”

“Then his burn will quickly heal, or he’ll sink.”

“We could face penalties for false accusation. We could be put to the ordeal ourselves.”

Felice frowned at that, but said, “Not when we have so many good reasons for our suspicions.”

Claire had to tell the truth. “If it’s put to the ordeal, then I think Eudo will demand ordeal by battle. If we’re wrong, his opponent will die.”

“But we’re
not
wrong,” said Felice, who was always sure of herself, even when she was totally wrong.

“We’ll have to think more about it. After all, Eudo isn’t here.”

“Oh, but he is.” Felice smirked. “I asked his escort. He was only too pleased of an excuse to come and grovel before the man he has so often denounced as unfit to rule.”

Claire wanted to scream. She fixed her gaze on the altar, on the flickering candle that showed Christ was present in the form of the host.
Please dear Lord, guide me, so that what I do now be for the good of all. And do not let my path lead to harm for my husband
.

She had choices. She and Felice could go to Eudo and tell him all they knew, and all they suspected. She could make sure that he understood that they wouldn’t reveal his crimes unless he sinned again. He was not at heart a bad man, only a coward who had sinned through panic. She remembered his grief over her father’s death, and over her own fate. Both had surely been genuine.

That still hadn’t stopped him trying to kill her.

Like a rabid dog, he really wasn’t safe to leave unchecked.

She could kill him herself. She wasn’t sure how, but she knew she could do it to protect Renald. That, however, would be murder, no matter how justified she felt. She would have usurped God’s role in dispensing justice.

Heavily she realized that the only right thing to do was to make their accusations public and let justice take its course. It would be put before God through battle, and then, heaven help them if they were wrong.

She turned to where Felice was waiting, idly buffing her nails on her skirt, seemingly without concern. And yet she had come here. True, she’d doubtless wanted to be at court, and wanted to puff off her own cleverness. But she probably truly had wanted to keep Claire safe.

Claire was learning many things, one being that people were never saints or devils, but a complex blend of virtue and weakness.

She wished Eudo
were
evil, someone who clearly should be wiped off the earth. Instead he was a generally decent man who had lost his way and now must die.

For this purpose, it would be good if Renald were pure wolf, able to kill without qualm. But he had a soul, in many ways a gentle one, and killing pained him, particularly the coldblooded, judicial kind.

She remembered thinking that she would protect the ones she loved, but she saw no option here for hitting anyone over the head with a rock.

“Well?” asked Felice. “I know you have to think everything through ten times over, Claire, but really.”

“We had best tell Renald.”

“And then, I assume, we will have to explain it all to the king.” She rose, smiling, complacently sure that the King of England would be impressed by her courage and beauty.

Touched by the rising sun, the stands held only grim-faced men—and Claire and Felice. As accusers, they were obliged to be here. At the hearing before the king, Renald had tried to assume the role of accuser, but the king had disagreed. No penalty would hover over the Summerbourne ladies, since their story was clearly not based on malice, but every man had the right to face his accusers at all times.

Felice seemed to be quite looking forward to the fight.

Claire’s eyes were hot from weeping. The tears were mostly for Eudo, who had clung to his claim of innocence, but who had struggled desperately not to face any kind of ordeal. It had not been a pretty scene.

Renald had turned somber. She didn’t blame him. She knew he would hate what he had to do, and could only pray that he wouldn’t hate her for it. She would have liked to comfort and receive comfort from him, but she hadn’t seen him since late the day before. An ordeal was a holy rite. The participants must fast, pray, and take the host before asking God to stand in judgment.

Her heart ached at the thought of how Renald had first come to Summerbourne. After a night of fasting, and a tragic duel, he’d made a long, storm-pounded journey to face the family of the man he’d killed. Why had she seen only harshness then? Why had she not seen the anguish?

Her heart ached even more with worry. What if they were wrong? What if Eudo was innocent?

She’d put that to Renald in the last words they’d spoken. “What if he’s innocent?”

“He’s not. His guilt hangs around him like a stink.”

“We can’t be sure. I’ll die if I’ve sent you to your death.”

He’d held her close, even laughing. “Claire, if you don’t have faith in me, have faith in God. He will not kill an innocent man in a holy rite.”

His faith shamed her. She sat in the stands, praying for the same certainty.

She was hating this in simple terms, too. It had been bad enough watching a show fight. She did not want to witness a fight to the death. Anyone’s death.

She was shaking by the time the men walked out into the open space. FitzRoger had taken the seat beside her, and he put a steadying hand over hers. She wished she could cuddle into him like a child, but she must keep her dignity for Renald’s sake.

Men-at-arms stood around to form the rough circle. By the king’s order, no casual spectators were permitted at this trial.

Renald was all wolf. Why had she forced him to this?

But no. Eudo had forced this battle by maintaining his innocence. A plea of guilty might even have led to the mercy of exile, but he’d clung to innocence with the blank desperation of a drowning man.

He was pale now, his eyes flickering as if seeking some escape. She ached for him, and for his family. But mostly she ached for what opposing such fear would mean to Renald. It would be like slaughtering the Michaelmas goose, without honor or dignity.

Unless, of course, they were wrong and God strengthened Eudo’s arm.

Once the men stood before the king, the crier stepped forward. “Hear ye, hear ye! Eudo, Lord Sheriff of Dorsetshire, sworn to uphold the king’s peace and law, stands here accused of the murder of his man, Gregory, and of one Ulric of Summerbourne, and of the attempted murder of the Lady Claire of Summerbourne, and of brigandry on the king’s highway. Eudo, Sheriff of Dorsetshire, how plead you?”

“Not guilty.” But it came out hoarse.

“Who stands to support this accusation?”

“I, Lord Renald of Summerbourne,” said Renald firmly. “I claim the right both as Lord of Summerbourne and thus protector of the man Ulric, and as husband of Claire of Summerbourne, my right worthy lady.”

“Do you both call upon God,” the crier demanded, “to use your bodies to prove justice and right?”

“I do!”

“I do!” But Eudo sounded merely hopeless. Surely, thought Claire, that was proof of his guilt.

Merciful Christ, let it be over quickly.

A priest came forward and gave both men a cross to kiss, then sprinkled them with holy water, chanting a blessing. Then the priest anointed them both with holy oil. Eudo began to shake.

When the priest stepped back, the crier announced, “May God show the truth of your cause!” and the king raised his hand.

The two men drew their swords and turned to face one another. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then Eudo slowly sagged to his knees, sword and shield sinking to the ground as if too heavy to be borne.

Was it surrender, or a plea for mercy? There could be no mercy at this point.

Renald swung his mighty sword and beheaded him.

Just like that.

Claire stared at the dismembered body, at the spreading pool of blood, then realized Renald had given his sword to Josce for cleaning and was coming to kneel before the king. FitzRoger had her hand tight in his. She suspected it was to stop her from flinging herself weeping into her husband’s arms.