“Quite sure, my lord,” the lay brother returned. “I have seen many dead bodies, and the earl was not newly dead when I received him.”
The justiciar turned to the sheriff. “Have you anything to say in regard to this evidence, Sir Gervase?”
“Nay, my lord,” the sheriff replied. His face was bleak, and he looked older than his years.
“Thank you, Brother,” the justiciar said. “You may go back to your seat.”
As Brother Martin left the witness area, the justiciar said, “I think we can dispense with further evidence, Lord Hugh. I believe you have cast sufficient doubt upon the sheriff’s case for me to declare it inadequate.”
Hugh stood. “My lord, I ask your indulgence. I have further evidence that I believe will be helpful in identifying the man who truly did murder the Earl of Lincoln.”
The justiciar tapped his long, thin, immaculate fingers on the table. A deep line ran between his brows.
Hugh said, “This evidence has to do with another man who has been killed recently in Lincoln. John Rye is a knight who was serving his yearly knight’s fee at Lincoln Castle when the earl was murdered. Several days after the murder, Rye asked for early leave so that he could go home to his sick wife. In fact, his wife was not sick at all. He wanted time to pay a visit to his cousin, William of Roumare, Earl of Cambridge.”
There was a rustle throughout the room, as if everyone had just sat up straighter.
Lord Richard Basset froze.
Hugh went relentlessly on. “I know this because I paid a visit to Rye’s home of Linsay in order to talk to him. I sought him out because he was the only one of the castle guard whom I had not been able to question in regard to the murder. He was not at Linsay when I arrived, but he did return several days later. He admitted to me then that he had information that pertained to the murder of the earl and that he had tried to sell this information to William of Roumare.”
A number of exclamations of surprise issued from the audience. The clerk called for silence.
In a dangerous-sounding voice, Lord Richard said, “Why would Rye have gone to Lord William?”
“My lord, I am not the man who has benefited from the earl’s untimely death,” Hugh said. “Lady Elizabeth’s husband will no longer automatically become the next Earl of Lincoln. The earldom is once more the king’s, to give as he will, and I do not think there is much doubt as to who will get it.”
Next to him, Alan could feel some of the tension leave Richard. Apparently, Hugh was not going to reveal the market stall cheat after all.
The justiciar’s face was grim. “If I were you, I would be very careful whom I accused, Lord Hugh,” he warned.
“I have no intention of accusing William of Roumare of having a hand in the Earl of Lincoln’s death, my lord,” Hugh assured the justiciar.
Lord Richard’s face softened a little.
“William of Roumare did not purchase the information that John Rye offered him, my lord. I know this because Rye offered to sell the information to me.”
Once more, Alan felt Richard’s tension.
“I should have bought it,” Hugh said regretfully. “It was a mistake not to. If I had, John Rye might still be alive. I didn’t buy it, however. Instead, I demanded that he tell me what he knew. He refused, and I left Linsay. Soon after, Rye himself came to Lincoln. I believe he planned to use this knowledge of his to extort money from the murderer himself.”
The justiciar’s eyes narrowed to long black slits. “What information could a man like John Rye possibly have had?”
“My lord, I believe he saw the murderer giving the fatal messages to the groom, who is now dead. I call the messages ‘fatal’ because one certainly resulted in the death of de Beauté and the other was intended to convict Bernard Radvers of murdering him.”
There was not a sound in the armory hall. Everyone was so still that the scene might have been a painting.
The justiciar stirred first. “And you say that this John Rye was killed during his visit to Lincoln?”
“Aye, my lord.”
At this, the sheriff interrupted angrily. “My lord, John Rye’s death was an accident. It occurred during the camp-ball game that is played every year at our local Saint Agatha’s fair. One of the players was wearing a knife at his belt and Rye was stabbed by accident. It was unfortunate, but these things happen. You know that they do.”
“Do you have the man whose knife stabbed him?” the justiciar asked.
“We have been unable to discover who was wearing a knife, my lord,” Gervase admitted reluctantly. “No one will admit to seeing anyone with a knife at his belt and, needless to say, no one is stepping forward to confess.”
The justiciar said, “It seems excessively odd that three people should die of knife wounds in Lincoln within the span of two months. Do you have many such incidents here, Sir Gervase?”
“Nay, my lord,” the sheriff admitted.
Hugh made an infinitesimal movement, and in so doing managed to draw the attention of everyone in the room.
How does he do it? Alan wondered with a strange mixture of awe and resentment.
Hugh said, “May I point out to you, my lord, that Bernard Radvers was in custody during the time that John Rye was killed.” He took one step toward the justiciar’s table. “If indeed it is true, and I think it is, that John Rye was killed by the same man who killed the Earl of Lincoln, then that man cannot possibly be Bernard Radvers.”
The audience burst into excited talk while Hugh and the chief justiciar looked at each other.
The clerk called for silence.
The justiciar said, “If the murderer we seek is not Bernard Radvers, Lord Hugh, then who is it?”
“I believe I can answer that question, my lord. I would ask for an opportunity to question several witnesses, and as I do so I believe the truth will be made clear.”
Under his warm cloak, Alan felt icy cold. He is going to accuse Richard. He is going to expose the market stall cheat and accuse Richard.
“Very well,” said Lord Richard Basset. “You may call your witnesses, Lord Hugh.”
The sheriff protested angrily. “My lord, I object to this latitude you have afforded Lord Hugh! We are here to try Bernard Radvers, not conduct a general inquisition.”
“Lord Hugh has raised a number of interesting points that appear to exonerate Bernard Radvers,” the justiciar returned coldly. “It seems to me that in your haste to claim that you had discovered the culprit, you may have been neglectful of inquiring too deeply into this matter, Sir Gervase. I would like to hear what Lord Hugh has to say.”
Gervase’s face was ghost-white as he replied in a monotone, “If that is your wish, my lord.”
“It is my wish,” the justiciar replied. “The king desires justice to be done in this matter, and I am here as his deputy to see that justice is indeed carried out.”
He looked at Hugh.
“Call your witnesses, Lord Hugh,” he said. “Let us see if you can bring a more convincing case than the sheriff has done.”
25
Bernard leaned over and whispered urgently, “Don’t go any farther, Hugh. You have already done enough to establish my innocence. Don’t attack Richard in public. You haven’t sufficient evidence.”
Hugh just shook his head and continued to regard the justiciar. “My lord, I should like to call Sir Richard Canville as a witness.”
Bernard clenched his fists in anguished frustration.
The armory hall buzzed with excitement as Richard walked past the benches and took up his place between the chief justiciar and Hugh. Bernard knew that nearly every person present, with the exception of the justiciar, was aware of the long history of Hugh’s dislike of Richard. Hugh would find it almost impossible to convince this audience that his evidence was objective.
Richard looked magnificent as he stood there, his wide shoulders caped with a green, fur-trimmed mantle, his dark gold hair gleaming in the flickering light of a flambeau.