Nigel cursed. Then he muttered apologetically, “Sorry, my dear.”
Cristen leaned her head back against the carved wood of her chair. Her face looked strained. “I’m afraid, Father,” she said. “I’m afraid for Hugh.”
Ralf pushed himself under her feet so that he was serving as her footrest.
“I will tell you something about Hugh, Cristen,” her father replied. “He is the most thoroughly competent young man I have ever been privileged to meet. Believe me, he can take care of himself.”
“In the field he can,” she returned grimly. “But his fighting skills won’t save him from a knife in his back.”
“No.” Nigel’s face was perfectly sober. “That will be the job of his friends.”
By the time Hugh returned to Somerford, Nigel had gone to bed and Cristen had retired to the family solar. As Hugh was sleeping in one of the bedrooms that led off the solar, and not in the hall with the other knights, he entered the family refuge to find her sitting in front of the brazier, which had been lit against the chilly autumn night.
“You saw Geoffrey safely to the church?” she asked quietly as he shut the door behind him.
“Aye.” He took the chair next to hers and stretched his cold hands out to the brazier.
“Father is going to ride over to Bradley to see his family tomorrow morning. They may wish to bring his body home for burial.”
“Aye,” he said again.
She sighed. “He blames himself for Geoffrey’s death.”
“Your father blames himself?” He stared at her in shocked surprise. “It was my fault, not his!”
“It was as much my father’s fault as it was yours, Hugh,” she replied. “He blames himself for bringing you to Chippenham without foreseeing what Guy’s response might be.” Her eyes were on his hands, which were still held out toward the brazier. “You, on the other hand, blame yourself for getting sick and letting Geoffrey borrow your horse.”
He continued to stare at her. The hands he was holding out to the fire were rigid. “You don’t think it was either of our faults?” he demanded.
At last she turned her eyes to meet his. “I can understand why you both feel guilty about Geoffrey,” she said. “Whenever someone is connected to the death of another, it is only natural to feel some degree of guilt.” Her voice was quiet, her face grave. “Believe me, Hugh, when I tell you that I understand this. I feel guilty every time I’m called in to help someone with my herbs and I fail.”
There was a line sharp as a sword between his brows. “That’s ridiculous. You try to help. There is no reason for you to feel guilty if you fail!”
“I understand that with my reason.” The light from the brazier illuminated the peach-colored glow of her suntanned cheeks. “But I feel guilty that my knowledge isn’t enough. It isn’t a rational feeling, I realize that, and I don’t let it stop me from trying again. Nonetheless, it’s there.”
There was a long silence while Hugh continued to look at her.
At last he moved, leaning his dark head against the back of his chair. “You are saying that it’s natural for me to feel guilty about Geoffrey, but that I shouldn’t let it cripple me,” he said.
She regarded him, her great brown eyes filled with beautiful clarity. “Aye,” she said. “That is what I am saying.”
His face was very still. “That is what Bernard said when I let Ralf walk ahead without me. Strange how it never seems to be my fault when the people around me get killed.”
She said, “My mother caught the illness she died of from me.”
An expression finally flickered across his face. “Jesu,” he said. “What a selfish monster you must think me.”
She shook her head. “No. You’re just human, Hugh. And that means you feel guilty. Isn’t that what original sin is all about?”
I felt guilty in that chapel and it had nothing to do with original sin.
But he didn’t say it. He knew the feeling was connected somehow with the image of the body he had seen lying on the chapel floor. He didn’t understand what he had seen and felt, but he knew that somehow he was going to find out. No matter how terrible his past had been, he couldn’t live without it any longer.
He gave Cristen a faint smile. “All right,” he said. “I understand what you are saying.”
She smiled back. “Talk to Father Anselm,” she recommended. “He was a member of the Chippenham household when you were young. He should be able to answer some of your questions.”
He wasn’t even surprised that she had divined his thoughts. She had done it too often before.
He nodded. “I will.”
All of a sudden, she yawned, showing an expanse of pink mouth and white teeth. He smiled. “Go to bed,” he said. “You must be exhausted.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “I am.”
She didn’t tell him that he must be tired as well. Cristen never said the wrong thing.
She stood up. “Good night, Hugh.”
Courteously, he stood as well. “Good night, Cristen.”
He watched her small, straight-backed figure as she crossed the solar floor and opened the door that led to her bedroom. She went in without looking back.
A few minutes later, Hugh made his way to his own room. The squire who was sleepily waiting inside brought him water and helped him out of his clothes, and in short order he was sliding naked into the comfortable bed.
He had been prepared for sleeplessness, but to his great surprise he fell into deep slumber immediately and slept soundly through the night.
Philip Demain was sleeping in the Great Hall along with Father Anselm and Nigel’s resident knights. The third floor of the castle was reserved for the ladies, and Somerford was not big enough to have a large number of private bedchambers.
As Philip settled himself comfortably on the straw mattress that was to be his bed for the night, he reflected complacently that his mission had been a success. Not only had he been able to identify Hugh as the son of Roger and Isabel, but Hugh was going to accompany him back to Evesham to show himself to his uncle, Philip’s lord. No doubt once the visit to Simon was accomplished, he would go on to Worcester to see his mother.
Philip said now to Father Anselm, who was lying on the mattress next to his, “You will be accompanying us back to Evesham, Father, won’t you?”
“No,” the priest surprised him by saying. “I will be returning to Winchester. I have duties at the cathedral there that I cannot neglect.”
The two men had found a corner to themselves, thus gaining a modicum of privacy from the rest of the knights. Philip said now, his voice pitched softly so that no one but the priest would hear him, “But…I had thought you would want to spend some time with Hugh. If he is to regain his memory, he needs to have someone who can tell him stories about his childhood. My own lord cannot do that. He scarcely knew Hugh when he was a child.”
There was a long silence. Then the priest said in a strained voice, “Believe me, son, it is better for Hugh not to remember.”
Philip pushed himself up on his elbow and tried to see the priest through the darkness of the hall. All he could make out, however, was a shadowy outline lying on top of the mattress.
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.”