Bernard roused himself from whatever it was he had been contemplating. “There is no mystery about Alan Stanham. His father holds a property outside Lincoln in knight’s fee from the bishop. Richard met the boy on some occasion or other and was impressed by him. He invited Alan to be his squire, and Alan’s father was delighted to accept. The boy is a younger son in a large family. Richard’s patronage will be very useful to him.”
“Alan’s father doesn’t sound like an overly careful parent,” Hugh said.
Bernard made a noise indicating exasperation. “I know this is hard for you to believe, Hugh, but most people think that Richard Canville is the perfect knightly model for a young boy to emulate.”
Hugh’s face was completely expressionless.
“At any rate,” Bernard said firmly, “there is nothing at all suspicious about Alan Stanham. He is a very nice lad.”
“He is a very nice lad who conveniently discovered you leaning over de Beauté’s body,” Hugh pointed out. “He is also one of the few people who know about the single stab wound to the heart. And he thinks Richard walks on water. I have no doubt that we can assume that anything Alan knows, Richard knows also.”
Bernard said patiently, “If Richard did not learn the details from Alan, he was certain to learn them from Gervase. Gervase trusts his son implicitly. And he has reason to do so.”
Hugh’s nostrils pinched together.
“I have never understood your dislike of Richard,” Bernard said.
Hugh made a dismissive gesture.
Bernard changed the subject. “What about your theory that William of Roumare is involved in de Beauté’s death? Have you discovered anything that would bear that out?”
Hugh said, “I have not been to see you because I rode to Linsay to talk to John Rye, the only member of the castle guard I wasn’t able to interview here in Lincoln.” He proceeded to inform Bernard of everything he had learned at Linsay.
“So we know that Rye left Lincoln early for reasons other than his wife’s illness,” he concluded, “and we know that those reasons had something to do with William of Roumare. As I see it, there are two possibilities for this behavior. One possibility is that Rye murdered de Beauté at Roumare’s behest, and then went to see Roumare in order to collect his payment.”
Hugh steepled his fingers on his knee and regarded them with frowning intensity. “The other possiblity is that Rye is not the killer himself, but knows who the killer is and went to Roumare to try to extort money from him in exchange for keeping quiet.”
“The first possibility makes better sense,” Bernard said. He, too, was looking at Hugh’s steepled fingers.
“Perhaps. But if it is true that Rye himself is the killer, then why did he offer to sell me information?”
“Such information is probably false. He is trying to make even more money out of de Beauté’s death than he already has.”
“That could be so,” Hugh agreed. “But it may also be true that Rye actually does have some information about the murder, which he tried and failed to sell to Roumare, and now he is in the market for another buyer.”
Bernard said very slowly, “That is so.”
Hugh tapped his two forefingers together.
Bernard said, “How much money does he want?”
“We didn’t get that far.”
Bernard reached out and closed his hand around Hugh’s hard forearm. “I’m desperate enough to be willing to pay a bribe if I have to. Can you find out? If we don’t get some concrete evidence soon, I don’t have a chance.”
“Of course you have a chance,” Hugh said emphatically. “When you think about it, Bernard, you have absolutely no motive for killing Gilbert de Beauté.”
Bernard began to cough. “My motive is supposedly you,” he finally got out.
“That justification is tenuous, to say the least. Anyone with a functioning mind must know that my chance to become Earl of Lincoln depended upon my marriage being accomplished during de Beauté’s lifetime. With Elizabeth still unwed, her guardianship passes to the king and everything is changed. I lose instead of win.”
“Well, apparently the sheriff does not credit me with a functioning mind,” Bernard said sarcastically.
“You are nothing more than a scapegoat,” Hugh said. “The sheriff has no other suspect. Gervase doesn’t really want to accuse you, Bernard. If we can find him a more likely candidate, he will be grateful.”
“Well then, find him another candidate!” Bernard commanded.
Hugh got to his feet. “I intend to do just that. I will look into the whereabouts of Edgar Harding on the night of the murder, and I will find out what information John Rye may be concealing.”
Bernard remained sitting on the bench. “You don’t have much time, Hugh,” he said. “Lord Richard Basset is already overdue.”
“Have you forgot Saint Agatha’s Fair? It is due to start the day after tomorrow and the townsfolk are busy getting ready for it. Even if the chief justiciar arrives, the trial won’t start until after it is over.”
“I hadn’t thought the fair would be held this year,” Bernard said with surprise.
“A delegation of the town’s freemen asked Gervase to let it go forward. People come into Lincoln from the surrounding countryside for the fair, and it is business the local merchants count upon. Gervase decided a week ago to allow the event to proceed. So we have a bit of a respite, Bernard.”
Bernard was seized by another coughing fit.
Hugh stood looking down at his father’s old friend, a frown upon his face. “I will be back later today with some medicine for that cough,” he promised.
Bernard nodded and continued to cough.
Hugh hesitated, then patted him upon the shoulder before he strode to the door and knocked peremptorily upon the heavy wood. A guard appeared to let him out, and Hugh exited without a backward look.
He ran lightly up the stairs and out to the gray light of the courtyard. It had begun to rain. He passed through the keep gate and went down the stairs to the Inner bail, where he collected Rufus. He swung into the saddle and headed the stallion in the direction of the town.
Cristen would know what to do about Bernard’s cough, he thought. It was clearly his duty to see her as soon as he possibly could.
When Hugh walked into the hall of Ralf’s town house, the first person he saw was his uncle, sitting in Ralf’s old chair.
“My lord,” he said in a level voice.
Next he looked at Cristen, seated in the chair that had always been Adela’s. The perfect serenity of her face told him that she was under siege.
“I have just told Lady Cristen that she is to return to Somerford immediately,” Guy informed him. “If you have any sense at all, Hugh, you will tell her the same thing. With her father away in Cornwall, she has no reason to be here. Her reputation will be ruined if she remains.”
“I am the one who sent for Lady Cristen,” Hugh replied promptly. “Bernard Radvers is very ill and I wanted her to look after him.”
Cristen regarded him with grave eyes and knew immediately that he was telling the truth about Bernard.
“I was just getting ready to go and visit poor Bernard when Lord Guy arrived,” she said.
Hugh walked over to the fireplace, then turned to face the two of them. “His cough has become much worse,” he said with a worried frown.
“There are doctors aplenty in Lincoln!” Guy roared. “Lady Cristen is the daughter of one of my vassals. She is not a traveling herb woman.”
“She is a very gifted healer,” Hugh said coldly.
Guy narrowed his eyes. “This is not something I intend to discuss. I have made my wishes very plain. Lady Cristen is to go home. Immediately.”
Hugh looked back at his uncle, his face very still. “The de Beauté marriage is finished,” he said. “It was finished even before Lord Gilbert died. I will never marry that girl.”
Guy surged to his feet. “You will marry whom I tell you to marry!”