The chief justiciar was given a splendid dinner by the bishop, and attended evening services in the Minster. After these devotions he retired to his room to look through the documents that the sheriff had submitted to him pertaining to the murder case he was to hear on the morrow. After the sand had run out in his hourglass, the chief justiciar went to bed and slept the sleep of the just.
Hugh did not have so tranquil an evening. He spent most of it prowling the perimeter of an imaginary rectangle while Cristen and the children sat close to the fire, along with Mabel and Thomas. Mabel was singing for them in her lovely clear soprano.
Finally Cristen turned to Hugh, pacing at the end of the room, and said with a mixture of sympathy and resignation, “Stalking around like a hungry tiger isn’t going to help anything, Hugh.”
Across the room their eyes met.
“I know.” Slowly he came to join the group by the fire and stood next to Cristen in her chair. “I just keep thinking that there is some important piece of evidence that I have missed.”
Nicholas was sitting on a stool with Benjamin’s head lying on his lap. He gazed up at Hugh and asked, “What are you worried about, Hugh?”
Hugh looked at the boy’s inquiring face and didn’t reply.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Nicholas said with dignity. “I am sorry if I pried.”
Hugh said, “I’m worried because a friend of mine goes on trial for murder tomorrow and I need to prove that he is innocent.”
“Did he murder my papa?” Iseult asked curiously.
“He didn’t murder anyone, sweeting,” Hugh returned. “Somebody else did the murder and is trying to lay the blame on my friend.”
“Was my father really murdered?” Nicholas asked in an awestruck voice. “I thought it was an accident.”
“I think he was murdered, Nicholas. I think he was murdered by the same man who killed the Earl of Lincoln. That is whose death the trial tomorrow is about, you see. Bernard Radvers, my friend, is accused of killing the Earl of Lincoln.”
“What about my father?”
“I think your father knew something about the earl’s murder and he was killed to keep him quiet.”
Nicholas’s eyes were huge pools of blue. “My father did go into Lincoln to see someone special,” he said. “Do you think that is the man who killed him?”
All the attention in the room converged on Nicholas.
Hugh said carefully, “Do you know who your father was going to see, Nicholas?”
“Well…he didn’t tell me,” the boy replied, “but I overheard him telling my mother. He said that this man was sure to pay him good money and then he would be able to buy a manor that would be truly our own.”
The room was deadly silent. Nicholas had gone very pale. Seeking reassurance, he played with Benjamin’s ears.
Then Cristen said gently, “This is very important, Nicholas. What was the name of the man your father told your mother he was going to see?”
Nicholas bit his lip and answered, “He was going to see the sheriff.”
24
As soon as Lord Richard Basset had arrived in the city, the sheriff had sent official summonses to all those who would be required to appear as witnesses in the trial of Bernard Radvers. These witnesses had been notified weeks earlier to hold themselves in readiness, and so were expected to present themselves upon demand.
Since he was the person who had discovered the earl’s body, Alan was one of those who received a summons. On the day of the trial, after breaking the morning fast, he and Richard walked together through the damp, foggy streets of Lincoln up to the castle. The Bail was busy as usual with those arriving for mass at the Minster and those who had come to shop at the market stalls, but in the Inner bail the knights of the castle guard went about their business in a silence that was almost eerie. Even the horses seemed to munch their hay with unnatural quiet.
Alan and Richard were silent also as they climbed the stairs to the keep and entered the castle. The trial was to be held in the armory hall, whose vast emptiness had been transformed into a hall of justice for the occasion.
Alan looked around with curiosity as he and Richard came in. A long wooden table with three chairs behind it had been placed in the middle of the hall. The two end chairs were already occupied, one by a tonsured clerk, whose duty it was to take notes of the trial’s proceedings, and the other by the sheriff, the king’s chief law officer in Lincoln. Alan looked at Gervase’s face, which was as expressionless as a mask.
He must know that Hugh intends to reveal his dishonesty, Alan thought, and felt a twinge of pity for the hapless sheriff.
The various witnesses had been provided with five rows of benches, which had been set up to face the chief justiciar’s table. Bernard, as the accused, was already in place on the first bench, with Hugh beside him.
The armory walls were punctuated with four small windows, but as the murky day offered little light, the flambeaux affixed to the walls had been lit. There was no source of heat in the hall and nearly everyone present was wearing a warm mantle.
Richard chose a bench in the third row and Alan sat next to him. Cristen was sitting directly in front of them, and Alan was surprised to see that she had Nicholas Rye with her.
Nicholas turned around and gave Alan a quick, shy smile.
Two of the Bail merchants sat at the end of Alan’s row. Alan shot a quick look at Richard’s grim profile, then looked away. The merchants must be there to testify about the amount of rent they paid to the sheriff, he thought.
Once more, Alan looked at Gervase’s masklike face.
A sudden rustle of sound behind him caused Alan to turn his head, and he saw Elizabeth de Beauté, accompanied by Lady Sybil, entering the armory hall.
Elizabeth wore a white wimple over her glorious hair and a green tunic with an embroidered neckline over a pristine white undertunic. Around her graceful shoulders was a gray wool mantle lined with fur. Her lovely face looked infinitely sorrowful.
Gilbert de Beauté’s daughter was making good her promise to witness the downfall of her father’s murderer.
From the martyred expression on Lady Sybil’s face, Alan deduced that Elizabeth’s companion was not pleased with her charge’s decision.
Head held high, looking at no one, Elizabeth walked to the second row of benches and sat down at a little distance from Cristen.
The next person to enter the room came from the far side of the hall. Walking briskly, carrying a rolled document under his arm, was Lord Richard Basset, Chief Justiciar of England. All of the witnesses rose to their feet.
Richard Basset sat in the empty chair, handed his document to the clerk, and folded his hands. The rest of the room remained standing as the clerk unrolled the parchment and read in a loud voice so that all could hear:
“Stephen, King of the English, to the earls, barons, bishop, sheriff, and citizens of Lincoln and to all his faithful people in Lincoln and Lincolnshire, Greetings. Know that I have granted to Richard Basset my justice of Lincoln and Lincolnshire. Wherefore I will firmly command that the same Richard Basset shall hold my justice well and in peace and honorably and fully. Witness, Hugh the Bishop of Durham, Richard de Luci, and William of Ypres at Drax.”
The clerk carefully rerolled the parchment and informed the assembled courtroom, “You may be seated.”
Lord Richard Basset lifted his eyes from his clasped hands. He was tall and rail-thin, with a beak of a nose and eyes so dark, they almost looked black. He was dressed in a long-sleeved brown tunic and a wine-colored cloak lined with ermine. On his dark hair he wore a soft wine-colored cap trimmed with a fur band.
For a long, silent moment, he surveyed the group gathered before him, his eyes lingering for just a second on Elizabeth and Cristen. Everyone sat as still as petrified wood and gazed back. Finally, in a voice that was oddly husky coming from such an emaciated frame, he announced, “I hereby declare open the case concerning the murder of the Earl of Lincoln brought by the Sheriff of Lincoln against Bernard Radvers.”