“He did not,” Richard said. “I scarcely knew John Rye. There would be no possible reason for him to seek me out.”
“You are certain of that?”
“Of course I am certain.”
Hugh turned to the justiciar. “I would like to ask Alan Stanham a few more questions, my lord.”
After a moment of silence, the justiciar said, “Very well.”
“My lord,” Richard said commandingly. “I object to Lord Hugh’s attempting to intimidate my squire.”
“He has not yet questioned the boy, Sir Richard,” the justiciar returned, “so it is rather beforehand to accuse him of attempted intimidation. If you would like to remain here in the witness area while your squire is questioned, you may do so.”
Richard looked grim. “I will remain,” he said.
Please God, please God, please God, repeated itself monotonously in Bernard’s brain. This calling of Alan was a calculated risk on Hugh’s part. He had no idea how the boy was going to answer.
You’re a fool to call him, Bernard had said when Hugh had told him what he planned to do. The boy idolizes Richard. He will never say anything that might hurt him.
Hugh had disagreed. Alan’s adoration has been shaken a bit these last few days, he had told Bernard. I do not think he will lie to protect Richard. I think he will tell the truth.
The voice of the chief justiciar calling Alan Stanham as a witness broke into Bernard’s thoughts.
Richard’s eyes were intensely blue as they followed the progress of his squire from his bench to the witness place in front of the justiciar.
Alan looked very young as he stood there, his fair hair shining like silver in the light of the flambeau. He looked at Hugh as if he were a wild boar about to attack.
Hugh said pleasantly, “Alan, I believe you accompanied Sir Richard around the fair on the day before the camp-ball game. Is that so?”
“Aye, my lord.” In contrast to his clarity when he earlier gave evidence, Alan’s voice was so faint, it could scarcely be heard beyond the first bench.
The chief justiciar frowned. “Speak up,” he commanded.
“Aye,” Alan said more loudly. “I was with Sir Richard for most of that day.”
“Do you know John Rye?” Hugh asked him.
“Aye, my lord.”
“You would recognize him without fail if you should meet him?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“During the time you spent with Sir Richard that day, did you ever see him in conversation with John Rye?”
Hugh’s voice never varied in its pleasantness. He might have been asking if Sir Richard had drunk any water, so matter-of-factly did he pose the question.
Bernard clenched his fists, waiting for Richard’s squire to reply.
Alan was so pale, the few light freckles that dusted his nose were clearly visible. He looked at Richard, standing like a splendid statue but a few feet away from him. Richard’s blue gaze returned his squire’s look steadily.
Alan said shakily, “It was a very busy day and I expect Sir Richard has forgotten, but John Rye did have speech with him that day.”
Thank you, God. Bernard’s eyes closed in a momentary prayer of gratitude.
Richard said, “You are mistaken, Alan. I never spoke to John Rye.”
“Don’t you remember, my lord? We were in the silversmith’s shop and he asked to speak to you…”
Richard’s eyes were blue ice. “You are mistaken,” he said again.
Hugh said, “Alan, did anyone else witness this encounter between Sir Richard and John Rye?”
Alan’s hazel eyes were huge. He looked utterly miserable. Bernard felt a pang of pity for the boy.
“I believe the silversmith saw them, my lord,” Alan said in a voice that was close to a whisper. “I was looking at some knives and he was with me while Sir Richard and John Rye spoke.”
“Thank you, Alan,” Hugh said gently. “You may return to your seat.”
Alan did not look at Richard as he took his place in the middle of the benches.
“My lord, next I would like to ask Nicholas Rye to come forward as a witness,” Hugh said.
Nicholas looked very small as he came forward to stand in front of the chief justiciar. His brown hair was neatly combed and he wore a serviceable blue cloak around his shoulders. He appeared to be more composed than Alan had been.
“My lord,” Hugh said, “this is John Rye’s son, Nicholas. He has some information that I believe is important.”
In a voice that he unsuccessfully tried to make sound kindly, the justiciar said, “What have you to tell us, Nicholas?”
Nicholas’s little-boy voice was clear. “My lord, I overheard a conversation between my father and my mother before my father left to go into Lincoln for the last time. They were talking together in front of the fire in the great hall, and I was sitting nearby pulling burrs out of my dog’s coat. They knew I was there. I did not mean to eavesdrop on them…”
For the first time, Nicholas looked a little worried.
“I understand,” the chief justiciar said crisply. “You may continue.”
“Aye, my lord. Well, Papa was talking to Mama about something he wanted to sell. I remember that he said, ‘I should have gone to him right away instead of trying my luck with Roumare.’”
Richard made a small movement, which he instantly controlled.
“I remember that, my lord, because my father had just come back from a visit to Lord William of Roumare and we had needed him at home,” Nicholas said.
The justiciar shot a piercing look at Hugh.
Nicholas continued, “Well, Mama said that such information could be dangerous and Papa should be cautious. Papa laughed and said he knew how to take care of himself. He said he was not going to be greedy. He would only ask for enough to buy our own manor and not be dependent upon the bishop’s knight’s fee any longer.”
The room was thick with attentive silence.
The justiciar said, his voice sharp, “Did you hear your father mention the name of the man whom he was going to see?”
“My lord, at first I only heard him say ‘the sheriff…’”
A gust of wind blew through the room, as if dozens of held breaths had been let out simultaneously.
Nicholas went on, “But then he said the name ‘Richard.’ He said it several times, my lord. I thought the sheriff’s name must be Richard, but now I know that Richard is the name of the sheriff’s son. Papa must have said ‘sheriff’s son’ and I did not hear the second word.”
The benches erupted.
Holy Mother of God, Bernard thought. Holy Mother of God.
The justiciar called for quiet. When silence had finally been achieved, he turned to Richard.
“Sir Richard,” he said. “What have you to say to these charges?”
Anger filled Richard’s intensely blue eyes. “What do you expect me to say, my lord?” he replied. “This evidence has been produced by children whom Lord Hugh has insidiously influenced. They would say anything he asked them to say.”
“Alan Stanham is your squire,” the justiciar pointed out.
“He is my squire, but Hugh chose him to be one of the mainstays of his side in the camp-ball game. Then he deliberately humiliated me in front of Alan during an arrow-shooting contest. Poor Alan.” Richard’s voice took on a note of reluctant compassion. “He has been suborned away from his true lord by a clever manipulator.”
“And what about the testimony of Nicholas Rye?”
“Perhaps you do not know this, my lord, but after the death of both their parents, Hugh took Nicholas and his sister to live with him. Poor little orphans. I imagine Nicholas is so grateful to Hugh that he would say anything Hugh asked him to.”
“That’s not true!” Nicholas said indignantly.
Richard regarded him with pity.
“I spoke the truth, my lord!” Nicholas said to the justiciar.
“My lord,” Richard said reasonably. “Hugh has long held a grudge against me. I do not know what I ever did to him to provoke it, but you may ask anyone who knows us both and you will hear that Hugh has always hated me.” He shook his head in sorrow. “But I never thought that he would carry that dislike so far as this.”