Alan looked in the direction of Richard’s stare and saw Hugh standing at the edge of the crowd. Lady Cristen was with him.
“What’s the matter, Matt?” Hugh called back. ”Can’t you draw your own bow?”
The crowd and the men in line hooted with laughter.
Richard said, “I’ll shoot if you will, Hugh.” Something in Richard’s voice made Alan stare at him.
“A friendly match?” Hugh said mockingly. But he began to walk forward, and the crowd parted to let him through.
“Why not?” Richard said with a brilliant smile.
At Hugh’s side, Lady Cristen looked worried.
“Why not indeed?” Hugh said. “You go first.”
Richard walked calmly to the line of men, who had fallen strangely silent, and put out his hand for the bow the archers were using. He turned to face the butt, put his foot on the mark, raised the bow, and pulled effortlessly on stave and string until it was in a position of full draw. He paused a moment, sighting the target, then he let the arrow fly.
It landed exactly in the center of the small painted circle in the middle of the butt.
Relief surged through Alan. He could not have borne it if Richard had lost to Hugh.
A murmur of appreciation came from the watchers.
“Very good,” Hugh said admiringly. “You shoot eight first, then I’ll shoot eight.”
“Very well,” Richard agreed, and put his hand out for another arrow. “You had better take that arrow out so there is a space for my next one,” he said.
To Alan’s profound satisfaction, all of Richard’s shots landed inside the center circle, and six of them were dead in the middle.
Then it was Hugh’s turn.
He took the bow from Richard with careless grace. Richard was half a head taller, and a casual onlooker would not have thought that the slender Hugh stood a chance against the other man’s obvious strength and skill. Alan, who had seen Hugh shoot before, was not fooled.
At least it will be a tie, he thought.
He knew, without thinking how he knew, that Richard would hate it if Hugh beat him.
Hugh raised the bow and, without pausing at all, let the arrow fly. It buried itself in the thin line that formed the outside circle of the butt.
A sigh of disappointment ran through the crowd.
Richard said gently, “Your hand must have slipped. We won’t count that one. Try again.”
He is so honorable, Alan thought. Richard wanted to win this contest, yet he would not take advantage of his opponent’s bad luck.
Hugh didn’t reply. He just raised the bow again and fitted another arrow. This one buried itself in the thin line directly opposite to the first.
The crowd stirred with interest.
Hugh shot his third arrow, which quartered the circle. Then the next and the next and the next, until the entire circle was pinned with arrows.
The painted line into which Hugh had shot was an eighth of an inch wide.
“This is a nice bow, Edwin,” Hugh said as he handed it back. “Whom does it belong to?”
“It is one of the castle bows, my lord,” Edwin replied. “The sheriff loaned us a few of them for the day.”
Hugh said, “I’ll buy a drink for anyone who can hit that line.”
The men whooped with delight.
It had been deliberately done, Alan realized. Richard, who had shot brilliantly, was quite forgotten as the men concentrated on Hugh’s challenge.
Across the crowd, Alan’s eyes met Lady Cristen’s gaze. She looked resigned.
Beside him, Richard stood in silence. Alan did not know what to say.
“Shall we move along to watch the wrestling?” Richard suggested at last.
“Aye, my lord,” Alan responded eagerly, relieved that Richard’s voice sounded so normal. The look on Richard’s face was pinched and sallow, however, as Alan glanced up at him.
Richard was clearly furious, and Alan did not blame him one little bit.
“Was it necessary to shoot against Richard?” Cristen asked in an astringent tone as she and Hugh walked down the Danesgate in the direction of the Strait.
Hugh had not had to take any of the men for a drink, as none of them had managed to pin the line with an arrow.
“Perhaps it wasn’t necessary,” Hugh admitted. He grinned. “But it was fun.”
Cristen started to say something, then stopped in surprise as Hugh’s hand came up to cover her mouth.
“Don’t say it,” he said.
Say what? she asked him with her eyes.
“Men,” he returned in a disgusted tone, and rolled his eyes.
Behind his hand she smiled.
They continued on until they reached the Strait, where they turned north and began to walk in the direction of the Patchmingate.
“Do you know what I have been thinking?” Hugh asked.
“I always know what you are thinking.”
He stared down at her. “Always?”
She replied imperturbably, “Well, I always know what you are thinking when you are thinking what you are thinking right now.”
Hugh grinned.
That is two smiles in two minutes, Cristen thought with satisfaction.
They passed a family of parents and five children, all dressed in their fair-going best. The children were so excited, they looked as if they might explode.
Hugh said, “Well, what am I thinking then, Madam Mindreader?”
The elusive dimple in her cheek flickered. “You are thinking that we are so close to Ralf’s house that it would be a shame not to stop in.”
He shouted with laughter.
Cristen continued, “And I am thinking that you are right.”
He sobered instantly, and the line of his mouth grew grim.
“God, Cristen. I hate having to sneak around with you like this.”
“I know you do, Hugh,” she said gently.
They turned into the Patchmingate and walked in silence past the shoemaker’s shop.
Then Hugh said slowly, “I think I know who killed de Beauté. I just don’t know if I can prove it.”
She bent her head, exposing to him the delicate nape of her neck.
“Do you know the reason for the murder?” she asked.
He didn’t answer, and she lifted her head. Their eyes met.
“I think so,” he said.
Very briefly, she rested her head against his arm.
19
The first day of the fair was marred by only a few minor incidents. In one of them a few of the town youngsters stole several jugs of wine and proceeded to get noisily and obnoxiously drunk. The sheriff returned them to their parents and collected money to reimburse the irate vintner whose stall had been plundered.
Aside from the wine incident, five people were arrested for attempted theft, and a husband and wife became so enraged with each other over a purchase that one of the sheriff’s men had to be called in to separate them.
Late in the evening, after the streets were quiet, Alan was sitting in the family hall with Gervase and Richard when Hugh came in.
Alan was shocked to see him. After the way he had humiliated Richard, the squire wondered how he had the nerve to show his face in the sheriff’s house.
Gervase, who knew nothing about the archery contest, greeted Hugh amiably and invited him to have a cup of wine.
Hugh accepted, and sat down on a stool beside the fire. Alan, a look of disapproval upon his young face, poured some wine and brought it to him. Hugh took the cup and sipped the wine.
“Did you enjoy the fair, Hugh?” Gervase asked.
“It was very pleasant,” Hugh returned. “Did you make many arrests?”
“A few,” the sheriff admitted. “No blood was shed, however, and that is the main thing.”
“Aye.” Hugh took another sip from his wine cup, then rested it on his knee.
Alan looked at him. Both the sheriff and Richard were seated in chairs, and their elevated height and dignified posture should have made them the dominant figures in the room. Hugh was folded upon a low stool, balancing a wine glass on his knee, yet he managed effortlessly to be the center of attention.