No Dark Place (18 page)

Chippenham was large enough to have a separate room for the knights to sleep in.

Alan held his torch so that its light fell directly on Hugh’s face.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

Hugh stood lance straight under that burning gaze. “I am Hugh de Leon, the son of Roger and Isabel,” he replied steadily.

The knight’s breath hissed through his teeth. “I thought so.”

He swung around and took the torch to one of the tables, lit the candle that was on it, then brought the torch back out to the landing, where he thrust it into an empty iron holder. Then he came back into the guardroom.

His eyes searched Hugh’s face. Even in the dimness, Hugh could see a muscle twitch in his cheek.

“Where have you been for all these years?”

Hugh answered him honestly, giving a brief summary of what had happened to him since he was taken from Chippenham.

Still speaking with dogged steadiness, he told Alan about his memory loss.

“I have never heard of such a thing,” the knight said.

The single candle lit only the part of the room in which they were standing. Everything else was in deep shadow.

Hugh was white about the mouth. “Nevertheless, it is true.”

The knight took a step closer. “Why in the name of God have you come here? Surely you must see how dangerous it is! Your very existence is a direct threat to Guy’s position.”

Hugh held the man’s eyes with his own. “I have come because I can no longer live with only half a life,” he said. “I need to find out who I really am. I came here to try to find someone who might help me do this.” His whole being was intent upon the lean man standing in front of him, backlit by candlelight. “Lady Cecily told me your name was Alan fitzRobert. You were one of my father’s knights, were you not?”

For a long moment, Alan did not reply. Then he admitted, “Aye, I was.”

“And you switched your allegiance to Guy after my father was killed?”

Hugh had tried to keep his voice dispassionate, but something of what he was feeling must have seeped through, because the knight’s lips tightened. He said, “Guy offered me a place and I knew nothing against him, so I took it.”

The smoke from the torch on the landing drifted in the door and assailed Hugh’s nostrils. His heartbeat accelerated as he said the words he had come to Chippenham to say.

“I have come here for one other reason, Alan. I have come to find out who murdered my father.”

The older knight suddenly looked very weary. “I was afraid of that,” he said.

“Why should you be afraid?” Hugh demanded. “Because you are Guy’s man?”

Alan’s voice sounded as weary as he looked. “Guy did not murder your father, Hugh. He was killed by one of his own knights.”

“I don’t believe that,” Hugh said fiercely. “No simple knight would have reason to kill an earl—unless he was paid to do it by someone else!”

“Oh, Walter Crespin had reason, Hugh,” Alan said. “It was no mystery to any of us knights why Walter would want to kill Earl Roger.”

Hugh had learned long ago how to guard his face, but the shock of this reply showed in his eyes.

“Tell me,” he said at last. “I need to know.”

The knight shook his head in denial. “Why not leave well enough alone, boy? You have made a good life for yourself…”

“No.” All the force of Hugh’s formidable will was trained on the man facing him. “Tell me.”

Once more Alan’s eyes traced Hugh’s face. “You look so much like your mother,” he said, seemingly at random.

Hugh felt as if a hand was closing around his chest, cutting off his breathing. “Does my father’s death have something to do with my mother?”

Alan took a step backwards.

Hugh followed him. For the third time he said, “Tell me.”

“Why don’t you ask these questions of the Lady Isabel?”

The knight had backed up to the point where his legs were pressing against the bench belonging to one of the tables.

Hugh said, “I haven’t seen my…I haven’t seen Isabel. I can’t see her until I know.”

Some of the anguish Hugh was trying to conceal finally got through to the knight. Silence fell as they looked at each other.

Then, “All right,” Alan said with resignation. “Perhaps it will be best for you to know. Once you learn the truth, perhaps you will be satisfied that Guy had nothing to do with your father’s murder and will leave here while you are still alive.”

Hugh was quivering all over, like a bow that has been strung too tightly. He nodded.

The knight gestured toward the table behind him. “Come and sit down, Hugh. This is not a pleasant tale I have to tell.”

T
hey sat facing each other across the table, a candle between them. On the table lay a bridle that someone had taken apart to clean.

“I saw you win the horsemanship contest at the tournament,” Alan said. “Even when you were a child you had a way with horses.”

Hugh’s face never changed.

“Do you have a scar on right knee?”

Suddenly Hugh felt dizzy. His stomach heaved and bile rose in the back of his throat. He swallowed it down and focused his eyes even more intently on the other man’s face. “Aye,” he managed to get out. “I do.”

“You got that when you were four years old. You climbed onto your father’s stallion when no one was looking, and he threw you. We were afraid you might have smashed your kneecap, but it was just a cut.”

Hugh had a sudden, desperate wish that Cristen were here beside him. He said, “I don’t remember.”

Alan looked at the stark young face in front of him and said gently, “Are you certain you want to hear this, Hugh?”

“I have to,” Hugh said. He took a deep, steadying breath. “I have to.”

The knight sighed. “All right. If it is the only thing that will get you away from this place…”

He folded his big, scarred hands on the table in front of him and began to talk.

“Your father was forty-two years of age when he returned from the Holy Land. His fame as a crusader was great. Did you know that?”

Hugh nodded tensely.

“His elder brother had died, leaving no sons, and so Roger inherited the earldom. Of course, one of the first things he had to do when he returned was to marry and get sons to come after him. He chose to marry Isabel Matard.”

Hugh dropped his eyes to the bridle pieces on the table. He picked up the brow band and rubbed it between his fingers. “Go on,” he said, his voice low.

“Remember this, Hugh,” Alan said. “Your mother was fifteen years old when first she came to Chippenham as Roger’s wife. She was sixteen when she bore you.”

Cristen is seventeen
, Hugh thought.
My mother was younger than she when I was born
.

Alan said pensively, “Your mother…” He stared at his loosely clasped hands. “How can I make you see how beautiful your mother was?”

The light from the candle between them flickered on his down-looking face.

“All of us knights were in love with her, of course. How could we not be?”

He fell silent, as if he were conjuring up for himself the image of Isabel as she once had been.

Finally he lifted his eyes to look at Hugh. “Roger wasn’t in love with her, though. I think he had spent all of his passion on the Crusade. There was nothing left in him to give to a woman. He was a cold man, Hugh. A very cold man.”

Hugh’s fingers tightened convulsively on the brow band.

“Once you were born, and he had done his duty to the succession, it was as if your mother didn’t exist for him.” Alan hesitated. “I think he felt that she made him impure.”

“Impure?” Hugh said, clearly startled.

Alan went back to staring at his clasped hands, avoiding Hugh’s gaze. He nodded. “Your father had been planning to join the Templars before he was called home from the east. It is a pity he was unable to do so; he would have been a good fighting priest. Unfortunately, he was not a good husband.”

Hugh forced his fingers to loosen their death grip on the bridle piece. “I see,” he said.

Alan reached out and slightly moved the position of the candle so that it did not cast so much light on his face. He said, “At that time, Ivo Crespin was one of the knights of Roger’s household.”

“Ivo?” Hugh said. “I thought his name was Walter.”

“Ivo was Walter’s brother.”

Hugh stiffened, as if bracing himself for a blow.

“Ivo was a splendid young man.” For the first time since they had met, a faint smile touched Alan’s lips. “You loved him. He used to let you ride in front of him on his horse. He was the one who first taught you how to shoot a bow.”

Hugh forced himself to breathe evenly, trying to slow the hammer beats of his heart.

“Ivo was deeply in love with your mother,” Alan said, “and she loved him back.”

Once more Hugh’s fingers tightened on the bridle. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

Alan’s voice went relentlessly on. “We all knew it and we all held our tongues. Ivo was well-liked by everyone and no one blamed your mother for trying to find some happiness with him. She was very lonely, Hugh.”

Hugh tried to say something and failed.

Alan said sadly, “Then Roger found out.”

Hugh’s eyes clung desperately to Alan’s face.

“You must understand Roger’s position,” the knight said. “It is every married man’s greatest fear, that shame will come to him through his wife. In these great castles, with so few women and so many men…”

Alan made a very Gallic gesture with his hand.

“What happened?” Hugh croaked.

Alan clasped his hands once again and went back to looking at them. “We warned Ivo in time for him
to get away, but he wouldn’t go. He wouldn’t leave your mother to face Roger’s wrath alone. He made a mistake and he stayed.”

Hugh’s knuckles were white, he was holding the bridle so tightly.

Alan said quietly, “Your father had him taken prisoner and forcibly evicted from Chippenham. But before Ivo was taken away, Roger castrated him.”

Hugh made a sound, which he quickly tried to suppress.

The lines in Alan’s face looked as if they had been carved by a knife. He said, “Once he was away from Chippenham, and left alone, Ivo killed himself.”

Hugh bowed his head and stared blindly at the scarred top of the table. “That is…a terrible story,” he managed to say at last.

“It was very ugly,” Alan agreed. “But now you see, Hugh, why Walter Crespin would want to kill Earl Roger.”

“Aye,” said Hugh, his voice unsteady.

“It took him over a year to exact his revenge. But when Roger was found dead and Walter was missing…well, we none of us had any doubt as to what had happened.”

Hugh nodded. His fingers moved on the bridle piece.

“I don’t know why he took you with him,” Alan said. “Doing that only punished your mother. I suppose we will never know what was in his mind.”

“Perhaps he wanted to punish her. Perhaps he
blamed her for what happened to Ivo,” Hugh said.

“None of us blamed your mother,” Alan replied emphatically. “And as for punishment—your father had seen to that.”

“Hugh’s head jerked up. “What did he do to her?”

“He isolated her. He isolated her so that such a thing would never happen again. Worst of all, he kept you from her. He saw her as corrupted, you see, and he was afraid that she would corrupt you as well.”

An image flashed before Hugh’s mind: Ralf standing with his hand on Adela’s shoulder and she looking up at him with a smile on her face.

He shut his eyes.

What kind of blood do I have running in my veins?

With a tremendous effort of will, he forced himself to speak calmly. “So you are telling me that Guy had no part in the murder of his brother?”

Never again would Hugh refer to Roger as his father. His allegiance was to Ralf, who had been a good man.

“That is what I am telling you, Hugh. I know that rumor has implicated Guy, and I suppose it is only natural that people should look to place the blame on the man who benefited most from Roger’s death and your disappearance. But Guy is innocent of this deed. Roger was not killed for gain. He was killed for revenge.”

Hugh put his hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet. He felt bruised all over, as if he had taken a vicious pummeling from someone’s fists.

“I thank you for telling me this,” he said carefully. “It was something I needed to know.”

The knight rose also and came around the table to stand next to Hugh.

“You will leave here, then?”

Hugh’s voice was harsh. “There seems to be little reason for me to remain.”

Alan hesitated. Then he said, “I am sorry, Hugh. I’m sorry I had such an ugly tale to tell you.”

He reached out to put a comforting hand upon Hugh’s shoulder.

Hugh flinched away from him.

Alan’s hand dropped.

“Go away before Guy can strike at you,” the knight said.

“Guy has no reason to fear me,” Hugh said bleakly. “He has had the king confirm him in his earldom.”

Alan shook his head in disagreement. “You are Roger’s son, and as such you will always be a threat to him. Leave Chippenham, Hugh. Nigel Haslin did you no favor when he told you who you are.”

Hugh picked up the candle from the table, turned, and strode out of the room. Alan could not hear the sound of his feet in his soft shoes as he ascended the stairs, but he knew that Hugh was running.

Hugh did not return to the Great Hall. Instead he continued on up the stairs, to the floor on which his bedroom was located.

He prayed that Nigel would not be there, that he
would have a chance to compose himself before he had to face Cristen’s father.

The room was empty. Even William must still be downstairs with the other squires.

Thank God
, Hugh thought.

He shut the door behind him and pain, sudden and violent, knifed through the left side of his head.

He stood like a statue, hoping it was just a momentary thing. Before this, his headaches had always started slowly.

The pain was white-hot and seemed to emanate from a muscle in the lower left part of his skull. It stabbed upward, behind his left eye, all the way up into his forehead.

Hugh stood at the door, rigid and quivering.
No
, he thought.
Not now. Please, not now
.

The pain did not stop.

Hugh closed his left eye and stumbled across the room toward the trunk where William had stored their belongings. Cristen had given him a packet of herbs to use in case of such an emergency. His hand was shaking as he pulled the packet out from beneath his folded clothes. He poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher standing on the room’s single small table, and mixed the herbs into it.

He drank it all.

Then he went over to the bed and lay down, his arm flung over his eyes.

He was still lying like that when William came into the room a half an hour later.

“Hugh!” the squire said in surprise. “I did not know you were here. You should have sent for me.”

“It’s all right,” Hugh said. “I’m not feeling well, William. Will you get me a basin in case I am sick?”

“Of course,” the squire said soothingly. Clearly he thought that Hugh had drank too much. “I’ll be right back.”

He brought Hugh the basin and twenty minutes later, Hugh was sick in it. He desperately wanted to tell William to go away and leave him alone, but the boy was Nigel’s squire and Nigel would want him when he came in.

An hour later, the lord of Somerford pushed open the door of the bedroom.

“Hugh,” he said angrily when he saw the supine figure on the bed. “I was worried to death about you! Why didn’t you tell me you were going upstairs?”

Hugh didn’t answer. He was at the point where he simply couldn’t.

“I think he’s had too much to drink, Sir Nigel,” William said in a low voice. “He’s been sick to his stomach.”

Nigel went over to the bed and leaned over Hugh, sniffing. “There’s no smell of wine on his breath.”

He straightened up. “Jesu Christ, could he have been poisoned?”

“No…” Hugh’s voice was a mere thread of sound. “I just…have a headache. I’ve had them before. Cristen knows.”

“A headache?” Nigel stared down at the part of
Hugh’s face that was not sheltered by his arm. “Is that the sickness that stopped you from riding in the mêlée?”

“Aye.”

“Jesu,” said Nigel. His voice softened. “What can I do to help you, lad? Is there something you can take?”

“Just…leave me in peace,” Hugh said. “It will go away in its own time.”

Nigel stood in silence, looking down at Hugh’s shielded face. “Do you want to get out of your clothes?” he asked.

“No.”

Nigel rubbed his own eyes. “All right.” He turned to his squire. “Help me with my own clothes, William, and then you may go to your rest.”

Once he was undressed, Nigel slipped carefully into the big bed he was sharing with Hugh.

Hugh never moved.

“I wish there was something I could do to help you, lad,” Nigel said.

No answer.

Nigel sighed, turned on his side, closed his eyes, and composed himself to sleep.

The headache lifted in the middle of the night. It had both come and gone more quickly than the previous ones.

Hugh lay on his back, his eyes staring sightlessly into the dark. He felt utterly wrung out.

Now that he was able to think again, the story he
had heard from Alan ran over and over through his mind.

Castrated
, he thought.

All of a healthy young man’s horror filled his soul at such a thought.

I wonder why it took Walter Crespin over a year to avenge his brother?

After half an hour of thinking, Hugh slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Nigel. The room was very cold, as the shutters still had not been drawn across the window. There was enough moonlight for Hugh to see his way across the floor. Nigel scarcely stirred as Hugh opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the hall.

A flambeau was burning in the hall outside, and Hugh reached up and lit the candle he had picked up in the bedroom on his way out. Then he began to make his way down the spiral staircase.

Chippenham was quiet. There was no guard stationed on the landing inside the front door, and Hugh made his way unimpeded into the castle forebuilding, where the chapel was located.

The heavy chapel door creaked as Hugh pushed it open. It was pitch-dark within, and Hugh held his candle in front of him as he walked up the center aisle.

He stood in the place where Geoffrey’s bier had been placed and looked at the altar.

It was freezing in the chapel, but under the tunic and fine white shirt he had worn to supper, Hugh was sweating.

The familiar feelings of terror and guilt began to sweep over him.