Cedric shrugged. “I don’t know her name. She lives in the house with the yellow shutters between the Patchmingate and the Danesgate.”
Hugh nodded and reached for his wine. He took a long swallow.
“It was most probably an accident,” Cedric said. “Men were clawing and kicking, trying to get to the ball. A knife worn at someone’s belt could easily have slid into another man’s back.”
“If you think that, then why did you take such pains to tell me that your father was not in town?” Hugh countered.
Cedric raised silver-blond eyebrows. “Because I had a feeling that you might jump on Rye’s death like a hound on a scent. As indeed you have.”
Hugh didn’t reply.
Cedric took a sip of his own wine and regarded Hugh over the rim of his cup. “The camp-ball game was very interesting,” he said. “I almost bet on Canville’s team to win. He had all the strongest men on his side.”
Along with horse racing and wrestling, the yearly camp-ball game was the biggest betting event in Lincoln.
“Almost?” Hugh said.
Cedric smiled. “I finally decided that brains would prevail, and I bet on you.”
“I am flattered,” Hugh said.
“How did you find that strategy you used?” Cedric asked with undisguised curiosity. “That is how our Saxon thanes used to fight. We formed a shield wall for defense and advanced behind it.”
“I did not know that,” Hugh lied.
“Aye,” Cedric responded, and launched into an animated discussion of Saxon battle tactics.
Hugh listened with real interest to Cedric’s enthusiastic descriptions. As he talked, the young man’s face was animated, his blue eyes bright with ardor.
Hugh realized that Cedric had probably come into town just to watch the camp-ball game, and would have very much enjoyed being part of it. He wouldn’t dare admit that, however, Hugh thought. The young Saxon was too much under his father’s influence to join in any game run by Normans.
“Hastings was probably the last major battle we will see for a long time,” Hugh said when Cedric finally finished dissecting the battle that had lost England for the Saxons. “The tactics of war have changed tremendously in the last century. Warfare today consists of the defense and besieging of castles. It is the control of castles that defines power in today’s world, not the clash of armies.”
Cedric looked disgusted. “There is little glory in siege warfare.”
“Possibly,” Hugh replied, “but open battle, such as you have been describing, is no longer efficient. For example, there has been constant war in Normandy for the last five years, yet not a single battle has been fought. Battle is risky, and most good commanders avoid it as far as possible.”
“There was a battle against the Scots not long ago,” Cedric pointed out. “Your foster father was killed in it.”
A bleak look came across Hugh’s face. “It was a rout, not a battle. Ralf’s death was an accident.”
“It was an accident that you beat us at Hastings,” Cedric said passionately.
“The English certainly had bad luck,” Hugh agreed. “But winning that battle was only the first step in the Norman conquest of England. We secured England, Cedric, by building castles. William built castles all over the country in order to establish his authority. He built castles to defend against a hostile English population and to give a secure base to Norman troops.”
“I know this,” Cedric said stubbornly. “I even agree that castles are effective. I just do not think it is an honorable way to wage war.”
Hugh lifted an ironic black eyebrow. “Do you really think that any war is honorable, Cedric?”
The young Saxon flushed. “Alfred of Wessex’s fight against the Danes was honorable. He was defending his country against a pagan invader. Harold was defending his country against an invader also when he took an army to Hastings.”
Hugh regarded Cedric’s passionate face in silence. When at last he spoke, his voice was quiet and final. “There can be no doubt that a war in defense of one’s home is morally more palatable than a war of conquest. But we live in an age of conquest, Cedric.”
“I am well aware of that,” Cedric said bitterly. “You Normans talk about the sacredness of your feudal oaths, and then you turn your backs upon honor and pursue your own personal power.”
“Oh, there are still a few of us around who honor our feudal oaths,” Hugh said. “And I daresay that even Alfred of Wessex had power-hungry men to deal with.”
Cedric stared into the fire and didn’t reply.
“Your father is living in the past and that is not a wise thing to do,” Hugh said bluntly. “The Hardings were a power in Lincoln once. If your father used the resources at his command, he could be a power still.”
“My father would never truckle to Normans!” Cedric flared.
“I am not speaking of truckling,” Hugh answered patiently. “I am speaking of accepting the realities of the present power structure and working within it, not against it.”
Cedric scowled at him and did not reply.
Hugh got to his feet. “Think of this, Cedric,” he said. “It is safer by far to be one of the powerful than it is to be one of the powerless.”
He put his wine cup down on a low stool and walked out of the room.
Alan was huddled on a stool in the corner of the solar of the sheriff’s house when when Hugh came in. Richard was sprawled before the fire, a cup of wine in his hand. He had been drinking for some time, and Alan was worried about him.
“Ah,” said Richard thickly when he saw who had entered. “The hero of the day is here at last.”
“You should join the crowd at the Nettle,” Hugh said. “It’s more fun than drinking alone.”
“I’m not alone,” Richard said, slurring his words. “I have Alan. My squire.” He turned to look at Alan. “Isn’t that right, Alan?” he demanded.
“Aye, my lord,” Alan replied softly.
Richard laughed and took another sip of wine.
Hugh folded his arms and regarded the man critically.
“You cheated,” Richard accused him. His blue eyes were too bright and his fair skin was flushed. “They shouldn’t have allowed you to put men behind my lines. That’s never been allowed before.”
“No one ever tried to do it before,” Hugh corrected coolly. “There’s nothing in the rules that says you can’t spread out your team.”
Richard slammed his cup down on the small table next to him so hard that the wine sloshed out.
“You made me look like a fool,” he said furiously. “You even used my own squire against me.”
Alan winced.
“I gave you plenty of chances to pick Alan,” Hugh returned. “You didn’t.”
“I didn’t think I had to pick him!” Richard shouted. “He belongs to me. Of course he would be on my side!”
Alan felt Hugh looking at him, but he refused to meet Hugh’s eyes.
“Do you know what your problem is, Richard?” Hugh said lightly. “You’re a bad loser.”
Don’t taunt him, Hugh, Alan thought with distress. It isn’t fair. Don’t make him say things he doesn’t mean. Don’t make him look small.
“Someday you’re going to lose, Hugh, and then we’ll see how well you take it,” Richard said.
Hugh laughed.
Richard’s face went dark with a rush of blood.
Alan jumped to his feet. “May I get you some more wine, my lord?” he asked, going to stand at Richard’s side. “Your cup is almost empty.”
For a moment, Richard stared at his squire as if he did not know who he was. There was a wild, glittering look in Richard’s blue eyes that frightened Alan. Then the look cleared away and recognition dawned.
“Thank you, Alan. I would like more wine.”
Alan fetched the pitcher from the table where it stood, then paused to stare at Hugh.
“Good night, my lord,” he said steadily. “I hope you have a good rest.”
Hugh gave him a mocking look. “Are you banishing me to bed, Alan?”
Alan didn’t reply, just continued to look at him steadily.