Death of a Squire tk-2 Page 11

  In a chamber not far from Melisande’s house, in the top storey of Lincoln castle’s new keep, another young woman was in distress. Alys had gone to the room she was now sharing with three other girls to sit and think. Neither Alinor nor the others were there, and she was glad of their absence, for what Hugo had told her had alarmed and frightened her.

  She had, from its onset, noticed the morose mood that had occupied her young cousin for the last few days. At first she had thought it was due to a reprimand for some prank or other, or perhaps for being negligent in his duties, but when he had continued to be dejected, an attitude so different from his normally cheerful bonhomie, she had become concerned, especially as he seemed to become more depressed when in Alain’s company, for he had always respected and admired her brother. That morning, after attending Mass, she had watched for him among the crowd and pressed him to walk with her in the castle herb garden, saying she had need of his company as an escort. He had followed her in an abstracted manner, not seeming to feel the cold bite of the wind that had been a harbinger of the sleeting rain which soon followed. Alys had wrapped her cloak tightly around her and pressed him to tell her what it was that was distressing him so.

  “There is something wrong with you, Hugo,” she had said. “Do not deny it, for it is obvious. Please tell me, so that I may help you.”

  Her soft caring tone had made the boy stiffen at first, then he had flung himself down on a stone bench that was placed in the lee of the wall. Pulling at a late-blooming sprig of mint, Alys had thought he was going to be stubborn and not answer her, and she sat down beside him in an attempt to cajole him further. But there had been no need. Seeming relieved, he had spoken first.

  “I don’t see how you can help, Alys, but I must tell someone before I burst with it. I dare not even tell a priest, for fear that somehow Alain will suffer.”

  “Alain?” Alys felt her mood swing from concern to alarm. “What has Alain to do with what is troubling you?”

  Hugo looked up, confused. “But I thought that was why you asked what was the matter, that you, too, suspected…” The squire shook his head in dismay and sunk his head into his hands. “Oh, I should not have said anything, anything at all.”

  Alys touched him gently on the shoulder. “But now you have, Hugo, and you must tell me what it is. If it concerns Alain, I have a right to know. I am his sister and, like you, I love him. I would do nothing to hurt him, even if to do so meant hurt for myself.”

  Although her words were brave, her dismay had intensified as she had listened to the tale that Hugo had to tell. It had been about the night that Hubert had met his death, and how her cousin suspected that Alain, and perhaps also Renault, was responsible. “We were all sleeping on the floor of the hall,” he had said, his voice tremulous, “wrapped in our cloaks, along with a lot of other guests. I couldn’t fall asleep-the man beside me was snoring so loud I thought he would choke-and I saw Alain get up and leave the hall, quietly, so as not to disturb anyone. Some time later, maybe two hours or perhaps three, Renault followed him.”

  “But that does not mean…” Alys started to protest.

  “They did not come back for a long time, Alys,” Hugo interrupted her. “It was early in the morning when they returned. I know it was because just a few moments later the cathedral bells rang the hour of Prime. They had been gone nearly all the night.”

  “Did you ask Alain where he and Renault had been?” Alys said.

  “Yes,” Hugo replied miserably. “But he lied. He said he had only got up once, to relieve himself at the privy, and had returned almost immediately. When I tried to say I had seen him, and Renault, he just laughed and said I must have been dreaming.” The boy gave her an agonised look. “I wasn’t dreaming, Alys. They were gone all that time. And it was during those hours that Hubert must have been killed.”

  “But why would Alain or Renault want to harm Hubert?” Alys said, fearful of the answer, fearful that her brother had discovered how Hubert had shamed and threatened her. “I know they didn’t like him,” she went on bravely, trying to convince herself as much as her cousin, “but Hubert was not liked by many people. That is not a reason to do him harm.”

  Hugo took his cousin’s hand and held it. “Alain knew what Hubert had done to you, Alys. Hubert taunted him with it, daring Alain to challenge him, saying that if he did he would tell all the world you are unchaste. There was nothing Alain could do, except…except…”

  “Murder him?” Alys said tearfully. “Oh, Hugo, Alain would never do such a thing. It is dishonourable, treacherous. I don’t believe it. And even if I did, it would have been unnecessary. Hubert tried to force me to bed with him, but I did not. There was no truth in his cruel taunts.”

  “But Alain would not have known that Hubert was lying,” Hugo replied. “Not unless he asked you. And he would never have done that. It would have implied he thought you welcomed Hubert’s attentions.”

  “I still don’t believe that Alain would commit secret murder, Hugo. I cannot.”

  “I don’t want to either, Alys,” her cousin replied, his despondence deepening. “But before the Templar came to question us, Alain told all the other squires and the pages that we were not to volunteer any information, that we were to protect each other. What else could he have meant except that we were to lie for him?”

  This revelation shocked Alys, convincing her more than the fact that Hugo had witnessed Alain and Renault’s absence from the hall that her brother had something to hide. Alain had always been an honest person, valuing truth and loyalty above all else. Only a terrible secret would make him veer from such a path. Were her fears that her brother had killed Hubert now to be proved true?

  There had been no words she could find to console Hugo. They had sat together in silent commiseration until disturbed by one of the kitchen maids come to pick some of the mint that Hugo was mindlessly shredding between his fingers. As she sat in the chamber, Alys thought that always, ever after, she would associate the smell of mint with death.

  Sixteen

  Gerard and Nicolaa’s son,Richard, arrived home that night just as the company seated in the hall had finished listening to a troubadour that Nicolaa had hired to play for the king during his visit. The minstrel was a woman, not so uncommon an occurrence as it had once been before Queen Eleanor had ascended the throne and given her patronage to anyone, male or female, who had the ability to compose and sing well. The troubadour’s name was Helena, and she was from Portugal. Not only was she an accomplished jongleur, she was young and beautiful. Seated on a stool before her audience, she had just plucked the last notes of a soulful melody from her lute when the door of the hall was flung open and Richard and two other people came hurriedly in, all appearing tired and dishevelled.

  “Richard!” Nicolaa de la Haye, with an unaccustomed loss of composure, stood up from her chair and gazed in surprise at her son. Gerard Camville pushed his chair back, rising swiftly and with an alacrity that belied his girth.

  “All is well, Mother,” Richard Camville called out as he came into the hall and made his way through the throng of people to the table on the dais where his parents sat, the young man and woman who were with him following close behind. The heir to the castellanship had his father’s broad shoulders and heavy thighs, but he was taller and more loose-limbed. The red hair that marked him as a Haye shone like a flaming beacon when he pushed back the hood of his cloak. “I have been sent by the king to tell you of his progress and on what day he will arrive,” Richard said when he reached them. “King John bids me convey to you his warmest affections and tell you he will be in Lincoln in three days’ time. I have left the squires and pages of our household in his care and they will return with the royal party.”

  He then introduced his companions. “This is Godfroi de Tournay and his sister, Marie. But before I explain why they are with me, we need food and drink. We are all chilled to the bone and our hunger would put a starving man to shame.”

  Nicolaa signalled
to a servant and mulled wine was brought, as well as a huge platter of cold meat, bread and cheese. Room was made at the high table for the three newcomers and they gratefully slaked their thirst before helping themselves to the food.

  As he ate, breaking off chunks of white crumbly cheese and devouring it with mouthfuls of cold venison, Richard explained that King John had wanted to send his parents a personal message and had entrusted it to him. “I also have a letter from the king in which he asks you to inform him if it seems that he will arrive before William of Scotland.” Richard looked up and smiled, his strong white teeth flashing as he did so. “He is most anxious not to seem too eager, and would rather that Scotland waits on England’s pleasure than the other way around.”

  Nicolaa nodded. “He has nothing to fear. King William is but one day’s journey from Torksey. A messenger from the Scottish entourage arrived this morning.”

  She looked around at the others seated on the dais, all of whom were straining their ears to hear what Richard had to say; some openly, others more surreptitiously. Beside her husband, his brother leaned in a nonchalant pose, and beyond him Richard de Humez listened quietly, attempting to seem preoccupied with his cup of wine. On her other side, her niece Alinor openly showed her interest while Alys, beside her, looked only at her brother and Renault, who stood in attendance behind the Camville brothers.

  Nicolaa decided it would be wise to defer any more discussions of the king until there were not so many listening ears. She swerved from the subject by asking, “And your companions, Richard? Have they, too, brought messages from the king?”

  Richard became more solemn. “No, mother, they have not. Godfroi was with me in the king’s camp and, it is true, came with me to bring King John’s letter, but that was only until we came to Boston.”

  Now Godfroi leaned forward and spoke to Richard’s parents. He was tall and compactly built, with short black hair and a clean-shaven chin. His eyes were as dark as his hair. There was a look of intensity about him that was enhanced by the grimness of his tone. “Richard and I decided to break our journey at Boston where my elder brother, Ralph, has his manor house. There we learned, from my sister, that a member of our family had died. In short, lady, Marie and I were half brother and half sister to Hubert, whose body I believe his uncle, Joscelin de Vetry, has come to take home.”

  His sister now spoke up. “His mother is distraught, Lady Nicolaa. She lives with us still, preferring Ralph’s protection to that of her own family. When the news of Hubert’s death came, both Ralph and Godfroi were away and only de Vetry remained to come for my half brother’s body and bring it back to her. When Godfroi arrived she begged him to let me accompany him to Lincoln so that her son might have a woman’s tender care on the last journey he will make on this earth.”

  Nicolaa gave the girl a searching glance. “You were fond of Hubert, then?”

  The girl did not drop her gaze. “No, lady. Not especially so. But I do care for his mother and Hubert was, after all, a son of my own father’s loins. It is my duty to comply with my stepmother’s wishes.”

  Nicolaa nodded and spoke to her husband. Gerard Camville had stayed silent throughout this exchange, leaning back in his chair and listening with watchful eyes. Musicians with rebec and viol were playing quietly at the back of the hall and the company, after the initial excitement of Richard’s arrival, had resumed conversing with each other and holding up their goblets for scurrying servitors to refill.

  “I think, Gerard, this matter would be best discussed privily, do you not agree? Afterwards, Richard can give us the king’s messages.”

  Camville grunted and rose to his feet. He was by nature a taciturn man, and an indolent one, content to let his wife deal with any demanding matters that arose. Reluctant though he was to leave the comfort of the hall and become embroiled in yet another discussion of the squire’s murder, he recognised the need for his presence.

  “De Marins should also attend,” he said to his wife shortly; then, to his brother, “And you, too, William. This matter touches both of us.”

  Nicolaa sent Alain, who was standing rigidly behind Gerard’s chair, to find Bascot and direct him to attend her without delay. Then she made her excuses to the company and they all left the hall.

  Bascot came away from the meeting with Godfroi and Marie de Tournay with a feeling that he was now more familiar with the character of the murdered squire. The boy certainly did not seem to have many redeeming qualities. Quite the reverse in fact.

  Like Joscelin de Vetry, the brother and sister had not been aware that Hubert had been murdered, or that his body had been desecrated by crows. Nicolaa had explained that she had not wanted to cause the boy’s mother undue anguish and had therefore left the details of her son’s death untold when she had sent her message.

  “I fear she will be much distressed,” she said. “De Vetry intends to have Hubert’s coffin sealed, but even so, some explanation will be required.”

  “I will tell her,” Marie said firmly, although her eyes were awash with unshed tears. In appearance she was very like her brother, with dark eyes and hair, but there the resemblance ended. The intensity that was etched on every plane of her brother’s face was lacking in Marie. She was strong, but not unbending, and there was compassion in her voice when she spoke of her stepmother.

  “My father married Hubert’s mother when he was elderly,” she had told them, at which William Camville nodded. It had been at Fulk de Tournay’s request that he had taken Hubert to train for knighthood. Soon after the boy had become a part of William’s household the elder de Tournay had died, after suffering many long months from a wasting fever.

  “Our mother had been dead for some years when my father married again,” Marie had gone on to explain. “The household had long been in need of a woman’s hand, for I was too young to take charge. Hubert’s mother is kind, too kind, perhaps. When he was born she was overly protective of him, cosseting him and keeping him by her when he should have been out from under her skirts.” Marie shrugged. “It made him petulant. When he was not given something he wanted, he would run to her, begging her indulgence. She never refused him. Even when he told lies or stole some trifling object-which he did quite often-he was never punished. And my father was too ill by then to take him under his hand. My brothers attempted to chastise him when he would do some mischief, but”-Marie gave an impatient sigh-“his mother always defended him, giving him a tidbit to eat and telling him he was not to be upset at their angry words. It was hopeless.”

  “By the time he went to your household, Sir William, his nature was set in ways that were not commendable,” Godfroi added, his face wooden. “But he is our blood kin and his murder must be avenged.”

  Gerard Camville, pacing the room as was his usual habit, had listened to them in silence. Then, tersely, he told them of the murder of the charcoal burner and his sons and how an outlaw had been taken while poaching the sheriff’s deer.

  “It is more than likely that brigands are behind all of these deeds. If the one that has been captured did not carry out the acts himself, I will warrant that he knows who did,” the sheriff said. “He will admit to no crime other than taking the deer, but I will get the truth from him before I am through. If he killed your half brother, you may rest assured he will pay-and pay dearly-for the doing of it.”

  As he spoke the words there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the sheriff would carry out his promise. Gerard Camville was known for his brutality. The outlaw would not be spared any pain before he faced his final moments.

  Bascot had left the room with the de Tournay brother and sister, leaving Richard alone with his parents and uncle for their private conversation. It was obvious that Marie was exhausted. The hurried journey in winter weather and the distress of the news she would have to convey to Hubert’s mother had taken their toll. Leaving her in her brother’s care, Bascot asked if he could meet with them in the morning when they were both rested, to discuss if there could be any other rea
son for Hubert’s murder besides a chance encounter with outlaws.

  Seventeen

  Fulcher was being kept in a small holding cell near the barracks. His wrists were still pinned to the sturdy branch that Copley had ordered his men to place across his shoulders and he was slumped on the dirt floor, head bowed and eyes glassy. He was so near to unconsciousness that he paid no heed to the two men who were beating him, nor to Roget and Ernulf, who stood watching.

  “He is either stupid or fearful of a greater punishment,” Roget said to the serjeant. “My men have been at him for the best part of the morning and still he will not admit that he had any hand in the murder of the boy.”

  Ernulf made no comment. He was here only at Lady Nicolaa’s request. Inflicting pain on a person unable to defend himself was not something for which he had much liking. He knew it was necessary at times, but fair battle was more to his taste than this torturing of a helpless man, however great his crime.

  The two men who had been systematically beating the outlaw were members of Gerard Camville’s town guard, of which Roget was captain. They were both evil tempered and surly, and seemed to enjoy their task. Their smirking grins had produced an angry knot in Ernulf’s gut. He longed to escape the dimness of the small windowless cell, lit only by a few flaring cressets set in sconces on the wall. The smell of blood and sweat permeated the air.

  “Perhaps he is innocent of the boy’s death,” Ernulf said. “Although even if he is not, he is a rare man not to admit it after a beating like that.”