“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.