No Dark Place (13 page)

He said, “Why should you say such a thing? Here is a man who is the son of one of England’s greatest crusaders. His mother is the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. He is the rightful heir to the earldom of Wiltshire. Judas,” said Philip with a rough laugh, “I wish I were in his position!”

“No,” the priest said with great somberness. “You don’t.”

Philip leaned a little closer to the priest, trying to see his face. “I don’t understand you. It’s true that his father was killed in a dreadful way. Hugh’s kidnapping was dreadful as well, but he was found and nurtured by fine people. Judas, it’s not as if he had been abused!”

The priest said in an uneven voice, “It is true that God was looking out for Hugh when he put him into the hands of Ralf Corbaille.”

Philip continued to stare at the priest through the dark. At last he said firmly, “I think you should come to Evesham with us. Hugh told me that he is committed to solving the murder of his father. He will have questions to ask that only someone who was a member of Roger’s household will be able to answer.”

The priest surprised Philip by jerking upward to a sitting position. “He wants to find Lord Roger’s murderer?”

Philip replied in a reasonable voice, “It’s only natural that he should feel that way, Father. He is the man’s son, after all.”

Father Anselm reached out in the dark and closed his fingers around Philip’s arm. “He mustn’t,” he said hoarsely. “Tell him to leave it alone. Roger is dead and nothing can bring him back. Tell Hugh to leave it alone!”

The priest’s long fingers were pressing into the hard muscles of Philip’s upper arm.

“Don’t you understand the necessity of such a search?” the young knight said, lifting his right hand to pry those painful fingers away. “If Hugh can prove that Guy was involved in the death of his own brother, then the church will take Roger’s honors away from Guy. A murderer is not allowed to benefit from his crime, and fratricide is one of the worst crimes that one can imagine.”

“I understand the consequences of such a search far better than you,” Father Anselm said darkly. “Hugh must leave the manner of Roger’s death alone. Let him seek to win his earldom in some other way.”

The priest’s fingers loosened of their own accord and dropped away from Philip’s arm.

“What do you know that you are not telling?” Philip demanded harshly. “Do you know who killed Lord Roger?”

The priest flopped back down on his mattress.
“Everyone knows who killed Lord Roger. It was Walter Crespin, the same man who kidnapped Hugh.”

“If that is true, then why are you so adamant that Hugh should investigate the matter no further?”

The priest groaned. “Ask me no more about this, Philip.”

Slowly, Philip lowered himself back onto his own mattress. “Hugh is unlikely to stop his pursuit of the truth just because I tell him to,” he said.

Silence fell. Philip was just drifting off to sleep when Father Anselm said, “Is Hugh going to visit his mother?”

“Of course he will visit his mother,” returned Philip sleepily.

“Then I will come with you to Evesham,” the priest said. “My duties at the cathedral will have to wait a little longer.”

N
igel rode to the manor of Bradley the following morning, to bring the news of their son’s demise to Geoffrey’s family. Geoffrey’s mother was heartbroken, but Geoffrey’s father took the news philosophically. Geoffrey was a younger son, and in the feudal world of the twelfth century, younger sons were expendable, particularly when there were five of them.

Then, too, Geoffrey had lived at Somerford since he was eight years of age. Nigel probably knew him better, and mourned him more deeply, than did his father.

Consequently, Geoffrey’s father’s decision to leave his body where it was came as small surprise to anyone. As soon as Nigel returned to Somerford from Bradley, he went into Malmesbury and made the necessary arrangements for the funeral. The following day, the family and the knights of Somerford filled the abbey church to say their reverent farewells to the young man who had been one of their own.

Cristen knelt in the first pew, with her father on
one side of her and Hugh on the other. After communion, she bowed her head, the host still held devoutly on her tongue, and prayed with heartfelt fervor. Her prayer was not for Geoffrey, however, who was safe now with God, but for Hugh, whom she knew was in deadly danger.

Dear Lord, give Hugh the wisdom to do what is the right thing in this tangle that faces him. Guide him and be ever close by his side. Give him the strength to face whatever it is that must be faced, and most of all, Dear Lord, keep him safe. Amen
.

They came out of the church into a gray, overcast day. The weather matched the mood of the mourners as they followed Geoffrey to the churchyard, which was situated just outside the walls of the abbey, and saw his coffined body lowered into the freshly dug earth.

Thomas was crying. One of the older knights put an arm around the young man’s shoulders to comfort him.

Nigel’s head was bowed. His face was lined with grief.

Hugh’s face was perfectly shuttered. He stood a little apart from the others, watching as the gravedigger threw shovelfuls of earth on top of Geoffrey.

Cristen’s heart ached for him, but it was to her father’s side that she went.

“It’s time to go,” she said.

He turned to her wearily. “Aye.”

He took her arm and began to walk away from the
grave. The rest of the knights followed behind them.

“Hugh,” she heard one of them say.

“I’m coming.” Hugh’s voice sounded close to normal, but not quite.

“It’s not your fault, Hugh.” It was Thomas speaking, his voice recognizable even though it was clogged with tears. “I was the one who suggested that Geoffrey ask to borrow your horse.”

Evidently Nigel’s knights had also come to the conclusion that Geoffrey’s death had not been accidental.

“Next we will be blaming poor Rufus.” Hugh’s voice sounded closer and Cristen knew that he had finally joined the rest of the knights.

One of the other knights asked, his tone cautious, “Is it true that you are the lost son of the old earl, Hugh?”

After the briefest of pauses, Hugh’s reply drifted to Cristen’s ears: “It seems that I am.”

Thomas said, “Well, if ever you want help in dislodging Lord Guy, you have only to call on me.”

“And me!” said another voice.

A chorus of “And mes” followed as Nigel’s knights eagerly pledged themselves to avenge the death of their comrade.

Nigel murmured to Cristen, “It seems that I am losing the loyalty of my own household guard.”

Oddly enough, he didn’t sound angry about such a defection; on the contrary, he sounded pleased.

Hugh left for Evesham the following day. Cristen said her farewells in the family solar.

She did not want to see him ride away.

“I’ll be back. You know that,” he said. He was holding both her hands in his own hard, calloused grasp.

“I’ll be here,” she replied simply.

He hesitated, then bent and kissed her on the forehead.

A squire opened the solar door.

“Sir Nigel sent me to tell you that the horses are waiting, my lord,” he said.

Cristen saw the surprise flare in Hugh’s eyes at the title the squire had bestowed upon him.

“Word has evidently spread through the ranks,” she said with a smile. “It’s their way of saying that they’re on your side.”

He nodded abruptly, squeezed her hands once, and dropped them.

“I won’t say good-bye,” he said.

“If you need me, send and I will come,” she said.

His mouth quirked. “I always need you,” he said, turned on his heel, and walked swiftly out of the room.

It rained during the whole ride to Evesham. Hugh huddled under the hood of his cloak and remembered the terrible headache that had attacked him when he had first arrived at Somerford.

Please, God, don’t let that happen now
, he prayed.

There would be no Cristen at Evesham to take him in charge and hide him away.

The miles fell behind them and his head remained clear. Philip Demain and Father Anselm rode with him, and he was enormously grateful that neither of them tried to talk to him about anything but the exigencies of the journey.

It was late in the afternoon when Philip said, “Evesham is just a few miles away.”

Fifteen minutes later, their small cavalcade ascended a gently sloping, grassy, treeless incline, and there before them, looming out of the rain and the mist, was a large gray stone castle. Like Somerford, it had obviously once been a motte and bailey castle that had been converted into something more substantial by using local stone. The thick walls that surrounded it were broken up by five towers.

“Have the Matard family held Evesham for many years?” Hugh asked Philip.

“Since the time of the Conqueror,” Philip answered proudly. “Your heritage is a proud one, my lord. A son of Roger de Leon and Isabel Matard need bow his head to no man in England. Or in Normandy, for that matter.”

“I am not ‘my lord’ quite yet,” Hugh said mildly.

“Let us see what my Lord Simon has to say about that,” Philip replied.

When Hugh and Philip and Father Anselm walked into the Great Hall of Evesham, the trestle tables were being set up for supper.

“Lord Simon is in the solar,” Philip was informed by one of the pages, who was carrying out his duty of putting the great saltcellars on each of the individual tables.

“Alan.” Philip summoned another one of the pages who was in the hall. “Go and tell Lord Simon that I have returned from Somerford and that I have brought someone with me.”

“Aye, sir,” the page returned. He cast a quick, curious look at Hugh, put down the flagon of ale he had been carrying, and ran to the wooden staircase that led from the hall to the next floor of the castle.

As Hugh stood with his two companions waiting for the page to return, he surveyed his surroundings.

The Great Hall of Evesham was larger than the hall at Somerford, but smaller than the one at Chippenham. The servants and pages were working cheerfully together, making ready the many tables for the evening meal. Several dogs roamed about, eager for supper to be served so that they could dine on the castoffs.

Hugh’s fastidious nose detected the fact that the rushes should have been changed yesterday.

The page had returned. “My lord said to come up to the solar,” he said to Philip.

They crossed the floor to the staircase, Hugh and Father Anselm trailing after Philip.

The door to the solar at the top of the stairs was open, and Philip stepped aside, gesturing for Hugh to go in first. He did so, entering into a richly furnished
room, which was lit by the mellow light of the late sun coming in at the two windows. Hugh’s eyes immediately located the room’s single occupant, a man sitting on a carved bench that was placed against the wall close to one of the open windows

“Well, Philip?” the man said.

“Go to him,” Philip said to Hugh in a low voice.

Hugh made his way across the floor, detouring around the brazier that stood in the center of the room, and came to a halt in front of his uncle.

“My lord,” he said.

Simon Matard stared at Hugh, his face wearing the shocked expression that Hugh was becoming all too familiar with when people first saw him.

“God’s blood,” Simon said.

There was no reply to that, so Hugh said nothing.

Simon got up slowly from his bench. Slowly he reached out and put his hand under Hugh’s chin and turned his face from side to side. Finally he said, his voice choked with emotion, “You are the living image of my sister.”

“So everyone tells me,” Hugh said, his own voice calm and collected.

He looked at Simon, evaluating the other man the way he himself was being evaluated.

Simon Matard of Evesham was no taller than Hugh, although he was somewhat thicker in the torso. His hair was mostly silver, but enough of the original color remained to show that it had once been black. His eyes were grayish-blue, but he had the same high
cheekbones that Hugh saw in the mirror every day when he shaved.

“I didn’t believe it,” Simon said, still staring at Hugh. “I sent someone to Somerford simply to placate my sister. I never for one moment believed that the man Nigel Haslin was harboring could really be her son.”

Hugh said somberly, “I didn’t believe it either, until Guy nearly fainted when he saw me.”

“Oh, my boy,” said Simon. His usually brisk voice quivered slightly. “This is like a miracle, to have you back.”

And he stepped forward to enfold Hugh in a warm embrace.

Hugh tolerated it. He didn’t return it, but neither did he pull away.

At last Simon’s arms dropped. He stepped back. “Where have you been all these years?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you let us know that you were alive?”

“I was in Lincolnshire, being brought up as the foster son of Ralf and Adela Corbaille,” Hugh replied. “I didn’t let you know because I have no memory of my life before Ralf adopted me.” He paused. “I still don’t.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed. “Nonsense. I never heard of such a thing.”

Hugh’s mouth set. “Nevertheless, it is true. I had no idea of my original identity until Nigel Haslin accosted me at Northallerton after the Battle of the Standard.”

The sun slanting in the window was falling on the top of Hugh’s head, making a pool of shining ebony out of his hair.

“You don’t remember being taken away from Chippenham?” Simon demanded.

“No.”

Silence fell as Simon Matard regarded Hugh with speculative eyes. At last he said, “Well, the important thing is that you are here now. And as it turns out, you could not have arrived at a better time for us.”

Hugh lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? How is that?”

Simon started to say something, then changed his mind. “We’ll talk about it later. As for now, supper is being served, and if you have been traveling all day, I’ll wager you’re hungry.”

“That we are, my lord,” Philip said.

For the first time, Simon’s eyes left Hugh’s face. He noticed Father Anselm standing next to Philip and said, “Is this the priest you took to Somerford, Philip?”

“Aye, my lord,” said Philip. “May I present Father Anselm, of the cathedral of Westminster.”

“You are welcome to Evesham, Father,” Simon said courteously.

“Thank you, my lord.”

One of the doors that led off the solar opened, and a woman came into the room.

“Are you ready to go down to supper, my lord?” she said to Simon. She noticed Philip and gave him a
smile. “It is good to have you back with us, Philip.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“My dear,” Simon said, “let me introduce you to my nephew, Hugh de Leon, Isabel’s long-lost son.”

“Is it true then?” The women turned to look at Hugh and her hazel eyes widened with recognition. “Aye,” she said slowly, “I see that it is true indeed.”

“My wife, the Lady Alyce,” Simon said to Hugh.

“I am pleased to meet you, my lady,” Hugh said courteously.

She gave him a warm smile. “How happy your mother will be to see you!”

Hugh drew a deep breath and tried not to let his rejection of that idea show on his face.

Apparently he was successful, for the Lady Alyce laid her hand upon her husband’s arm and said, “Shall we, my lord?”

The two of them moved toward the door, and Hugh and Philip and Father Anselm fell in behind them.

Supper was amiable enough. Hugh was placed at the high table next to one of Nigel’s daughters—his cousin, he supposed. He was so accustomed to thinking of himself as solitary that it was a shock to realize that he had a cousin.

Juliana Matard was a pretty girl of about fifteen, and she spent the entire suppertime plying him with questions he couldn’t answer.

“I really don’t remember, my lady,” he said for about the fifteenth time as a page refilled his cup with wine.

“But it’s so
strange
,” she said. She had already made this remark several times before.

There was a bustle of activity near the door and Hugh looked with relief at the young man who had just come in and was striding across the floor in the direction of the high table. Any interruption that would get him away from Juliana’s interminable questions was welcome.

“Father!” the young man said to Simon. He was not wearing mail, and his close-cut hair was black as coal. “The news just came to Moreton and I thought I would carry it to you myself. Earl Robert has landed with the empress and is riding west. He should be in Bristol sometime tomorrow!”

Simon was elated at the news brought by his son. Even the information that Gloucester had landed with only a small force of 140 knights did not daunt him.

“He could not have come with a large force,” Simon said. “Stephen has all of the large ports under close watch. It was only sensible for him to put in at a little port like Arundel. When I think of it, it’s a perfect place for a secretive entry by a small group.”

Simon, his son, Gilbert, Hugh, Philip, and several older knights were gathered together in the room where Hugh had first met his uncle, discussing the news that Gilbert had brought. The ladies had disappeared into their own bower, leaving the solar to the men.