No Dark Place (25 page)

“Why wouldn’t I be safe at Chippenham? From what you have just told me, Roger was the only danger to me and Roger was dead.”

The room was still cold but sweat had broken out on the priest’s forehead. He said, “We…that is,
I
…thought it was best to get you away. The castle was going to be in turmoil once Lord Roger was found.”

Hugh’s straight dark brows lifted. “And so you entrusted me to the care of a murderer?”

The drops of sweat on the priest’s forehead were very noticeable. “Walter was a good lad. He loved Lady Isabel. What he did he did to protect her. I knew you would be safe with Walter.”

For a long moment, Hugh stared into the priest’s agitated face.

“I don’t believe you,” he said at last. “I don’t believe that is what happened.”

“What do you mean? Of course that is what happened. I was there.”

Hugh shook his head. “I don’t believe that Walter Crespin was the one who killed Lord Roger at all.”

The priest was staring at Hugh with fascinated horror.

Relentlessly, Hugh’s voice went on. “There was another reason why you thought it was so imperative to get me away from Chippenham that day, wasn’t there?”

The priest’s lips barely moved. “What reason could that be?”

“I was the one who did it, wasn’t I?” Hugh said. “I was the one who murdered my father.”

H
ugh lay awake in the bed he was sharing with Thomas. A dagger’s width of moonlight streamed into the inn bedroom through a warped window shutter, giving enough light for him to make out the shadowy outlines of Thomas laying beside him and of the two knights who were sharing the other bed. The men were asleep. Thomas, who still had the remnants of a cold, was breathing noisily through his mouth. Otherwise the room was quiet.

More than anything in the world, Hugh wanted to be alone. There was nowhere for him to go, however, so he remained in the bed, holding himself very still so that he would not awaken Thomas.

Wisps of memory floated before his eyes:

The chapel at Chippenham, with its half-circle window set into the stone wall over the altar.

A man’s body sprawled on the floor in front of him.

My fault. It’s all my fault
.

Blood.

Horror.

Hugh’s stomach heaved.

I must have hated him very much
, he thought.

Lying there in the dark, he had worked out for himself how it must have happened. He had stabbed his father to death, and either Father Anselm had walked in upon them or he had gone to the priest and told him what had happened. To protect him, Father Anselm, and probably his mother, had asked Walter Crespin to take him away, to Simon of Evesham, his mother’s brother. Then Father Anselm had pretended to discover the body.

Had the priest planned all along to let Walter Crespin take the blame for the murder? Or had he just allowed Walter to become the scapegoat once it became clear that Ivo’s brother was dead?

No wonder I couldn’t bear to face my mother
, Hugh thought bitterly.
She must know the truth about me
.

He thought of her words to him when he had spoken to her in the ladies’ bower at Evesham:
You have nothing to be sorry about, Hugh
.

Certainly she could not have been unhappy to learn that her husband was dead. But it must have been a fearful thing to discover that her seven-year-old son was a murderer.

No wonder she and Father Anselm had not wanted him to pursue his past.

They were still denying the truth to him. His mother had sent him to Father Anselm to be told the exact story the priest had told him tonight. And Father Anselm had done his duty. Even when the blinders finally had been ripped away from Hugh’s
eyes, and he had recognized his own guilt, the priest had continued to blame the hapless Walter.

But there was no other explanation for the feelings of guilt that had assailed Hugh so vividly in the chapel at Chippenham.

My fault. It’s all my fault
.

Walter Crespin hadn’t murdered Roger de Leon; Roger’s son had.

Hugh knew what he had to do next. He had to return to the Chippenham chapel. Now that his mind was no longer trying to hide his own guilt from him, he might be able to remember exactly what had happened on that fateful morning. More than ever before, Hugh needed to know.

Had Roger done something to provoke him, or had he stabbed his father in cold blood?

Earlier, when he had told the priest that he was going to Chippenham, Father Anselm had protested.

“You’re wrong about this, Hugh. You won’t remember killing your father because you didn’t do it.”

But Hugh knew that he was lying.

Tomorrow morning he would send the knights back to Somerford, and he would ride by himself to Chippenham. He had a feeling that this time his memory would return.

Early the following morning, Father Anselm presented himself in the inn stable and told the stableboy on duty that he had been given permission by Hugh to borrow one of the knights’ horses. The boy, who knew Father
Anselm from the cathedral, cheerfully saddled up the roan stallion that had once belonged to Geoffrey and now was Thomas’s. Twenty minutes later, the priest had ridden out of Winchester and taken the road to Evesham.

Thomas was furious when he learned what had happened. After excoriating the stableboy, he reported the theft to Hugh. To his surprise, Hugh took the news calmly.

“You will get your horse back, Thomas, I promise you. The priest has merely borrowed him.”

“When you borrow something, it means you have the owner’s permission,” Thomas snapped. “Taking another person’s possession without his permission is stealing.”

The men were in the inn bedroom, where Thomas had found Hugh putting on his mail.

“I believe the priest is riding to Evesham,” Hugh said. “He had no access to a horse and so he borrowed one of ours. He will return it.”

Thomas took Hugh’s spurs from on top of the chest and knelt to strap them on his feet. “So what am I supposed to do?” the young knight asked grumpily as he fastened a buckle. “Wait around Winchester until he decides to come back?”

“If you wish to return to Somerford immediately, I will hire a horse for you. Otherwise you can wait here in Winchester. I am quite certain that Father Anselm will return within the week.”

After consulting with his two companions,
Thomas decided that the three of them would remain in Winchester to await the priest’s return. A horse was a knight’s most valuable possession, and Thomas wanted to make very certain that he got his roan back.

So it was that later in the morning, Hugh set out for Chippenham by himself.

Father Anselm was not a great horseman, but he pushed himself and Thomas’s stallion mercilessly, not stopping until darkness fell. By the middle of the following day, he was at the walls of Evesham Castle.

Just inside the gate he met Philip Demain, who was at the head of a contingent of knights on the point of riding out.

“Father Anselm!” Philip said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I must see the Lady Isabel,” the priest said. “It is a matter of the utmost urgency.”

Philip hesitated, then turned to the man who was riding behind him and said, “Take charge of this lot, will you, Fulk?”

“Aye, Philip,” the other knight replied.

“Come with me,” Philip said to the priest. “I will take you up to the castle.”

“Is Lady Isabel still here?” Father Anselm asked as his horse fell into step beside Philip’s. “She has not returned to the convent in Worcester?”

“She is still here, Father.”

The priest let out his breath in a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

Philip signaled to a couple of stableboys who were crossing the bailey and the boys came running. The men dismounted and the stableboys took their horses. Philip led the way to the inner courtyard of the castle.

“That is a nice horse you have there,” he commented. “Haven’t I seen him before?”

The priest had the grace to blush. “I borrowed it from one of Hugh de Leon’s knights.”

Philip lifted one blond eyebrow. “And where is Hugh now? I understood that he was going to Winchester to see you.”

“He came to see me,” the priest replied. “He was still in Winchester when I left.”

Philip’s other eyebrow went up, but he said nothing.

They went up the castle ramp and entered Evesham’s Great Hall. The midday meal had been completed and a few servants were still cleaning up from it. Except for the servants and a group of pages who sat on a wall bench waiting to be sent on errands, the hall was empty.

Philip said, “Lord Simon is not in the castle at the moment. He went out hawking. Shall I send for the Lady Alyce? Would you like to wash before you see Lady Isabel?”

“No,” the priest said tersely. “My business cannot wait.”

Philip looked at him with candid curiosity. “Very well. I will send a page to ask if she will see you.”

Philip signaled and in a moment a rosy-faced page was running for the stairs. Father Anselm stood in tense silence, waiting. Philip asked courteously if he would like a cup of ale, and the priest merely shook his head.

Finally the page returned.

“Lady Isabel will see you, Father Anselm,” the boy announced. “If you will come with me, I will take you to her.”

The priest nodded and stepped forward to follow the fair-haired boy.

The page took him first up the main stairs, and then up a small spiral staircase that had a single door at the top. He knocked.

Isabel’s voice, well remembered even though he had not heard it in fourteen years, said, “Come.”

The page opened the door. “I bring you Father Anselm, my lady.”

“Thank you, Peter.”

The page held the door so that the priest could enter. Then the boy stepped back out into the passage and gently closed the door behind him.

Father Anselm and Isabel were alone in what was evidently her bedroom.

“Father Anselm.” Across the width of the room the two of them looked at each other, assessing what the years had done to each.

“I had you brought here because I assumed you wish to be private,” she said.

The priest’s cavernous dark eyes were devouring
the woman’s face. When finally he spoke his voice was not quite steady, “Aye, my lady. You were right. This is a matter that requires privacy.”

Isabel wore a blue mantle over her tunic and her uncovered black hair hung in two long braids over her shoulders. Her face was taut with tension.

The priest made a visible effort to pull himself together.

“Hugh came to see me.”

Isabel clasped her hands together at her waist and watched him out of fear-filled eyes. “I did not know what I should tell him, so I sent him to you.”

The sun from the window glinted on the blue-black of her hair.

The priest said painfully, “This is difficult for me to tell you, my lady, but…” Father Anselm took a deep breath. “He asked me about Ivo.”

Isabel flinched as if he had struck her.

“Oh, God. He knew about Ivo?”

Father’s Anselm’s face was perfectly white.

“Apparently he heard the story from Alan fitzRobert, who is still in service at Chippenham,” he replied.

Isabel said in a choked voice, “He said nothing about Ivo to me.”

In a low tone, the priest replied, “I can see where he might have found that somewhat difficult.”

“And what did you tell him, Father?” Isabel asked.

She had bowed her head and was refusing to meet his eyes.

“I confirmed Alan’s story,” Father Anselm said in the same low voice as before. “I felt that I had no choice.”

“I suppose not,” Isabel said despairingly.

“My lady, he was going to have to know about it. It was the only way to make him believe that Walter Crespin had reason to kill Lord Roger.”

Isabel lifted her head and stared at the priest for a long, silent moment.

“I am so sorry, my lady,” Father Anselm said wretchedly. “I just did not see any other way…”

Isabel gestured for him to stop talking. “It was not your fault. I should not have laid this burden on you. I should not have sent Hugh to you. God knows, you have already done enough for me.”

The priest’s reply was deeply bitter. “I have done nothing for you, my lady, except to make your life more painful.”

Isabel shook her head in disagreement.

“My lady, I am afraid that I have more bad news. Hugh still does not believe that Walter killed his father.”

Isabel’s eyes widened. “But why? If he knew about Ivo, why shouldn’t he believe Walter guilty?”

The priest took a step farther into the room. His face was stark as he replied, “My lady, he told me that he remembered being present in the chapel when Lord Roger was killed.”

Isabel’s eyes were almost black with pain and fear. “He told me that, too. But he doesn’t remember what happened!”

“My lady…” The priest looked away from her, as if he could not bear to see her face when he imparted his news. “It grieves me more than I can say to have to tell you this, but Hugh has come to the conclusion that it was he who murdered his father.”

Her breath hissed audibly in her throat.

“Why should he think that?”

The priest shut his eyes at the pain in her voice. He said wretchedly, “I made an error and told him about the way Roger treated him after Ivo’s death. It was a mistake, I see that now, but I thought it would explain to him why he had such evil feelings about the Chippenham chapel. All it did, however, was to show him that he had reason to wish his father dead.”

Isabel’s hands were pressed to her mouth. “Oh my God,” she moaned through them. “Oh my God.”

“He deduced that the reason we had Walter take him away from Chippenham was to safeguard him from discovery.”

Over her hands, Isabel’s eyes were appalled.

“You did not tell him the truth?”

“He would not have listened.” The priest took another step forward. “My lady…the reason I came here in such haste is to tell you that Hugh is on his way to Chippenham. He thinks that if he goes into the chapel with this new knowledge, he will be able to remember.”

“Then we must go to Chippenham as well.”

Isabel rose from the window seat.

“I think we must,” the priest agreed somberly. “He
cannot be left to remember the truth alone. We must be there to try to explain…”

A spasm of pain passed across Isabel’s face. She breathed in and out once, with great care, then said, “How long will it take us to reach Chippenham if we leave right away?”

“If we leave immediately we can stay over the night at the abbey in Cirencester and be at Chippenham by tomorrow afternoon.”

“We’ll do that, then,” Isabel said decisively.

“We will need an escort,” the priest said.

Isabel shook her head. “I don’t want an escort, Father Anselm. The fewer people who know about this, the better it will be for Hugh.”

“With two armies in the area, the roads are not safe. I don’t mind traveling alone, but I am not a knight.” Father Anselm flushed. “I am not capable of defending you, my lady.”

Isabel made an impatient gesture. “You are a priest. No one will bother you.”

“That may be so, but I cannot guarantee that they would not bother you.”

“I don’t want an escort of knights,” Isabel repeated. “I want to keep this quiet.”

“What about Philip Demain?” the priest suggested. “He is a very capable young man and he knows Hugh. I am sure he can be trusted to keep his mouth closed.”