No Dark Place (4 page)

The eyes he encountered were as bleak and cold as the North Sea in January.

“No,” Hugh said.

Nigel’s head snapped up. “What do you mean,
no
? Are you saying that you won’t go to see your mother?”

“She is not my mother,” Hugh said. “And I won’t see her.”

The two older men stared at him in astonishment.

Hugh stood up. “Why makes you so certain that my loyalty is pledged to Stephen?” he demanded of Nigel Haslin.

Nigel’s voice became louder. “You fought for him at the Battle of the Standard!”

“I followed my foster father to the Standard, as was my duty. But Ralf is dead now.”

Nigel leaped to his feet so that he loomed over Hugh. “You cannot seriously be thinking of declaring for the empress?”

“Stephen once swore allegiance to her,” Hugh pointed out calmly.

“We all did!” Nigel cried. “Her father, the old king, forced us to.”

Hugh shrugged.

“You cannot declare for the empress, lad,” Bernard said. He too had gotten to his feet. “Ralf was Stephen’s man. He had his manors of Stephen. You cannot expect to hold them from another.”

“Perhaps I do not want to hold them,” Hugh said. “Perhaps I would rather give them to you.”

At that, Bernard’s mouth dropped open with shock.

Hugh smiled at him. His smile was so rare that when it came its effect was extraordinary. “You are growing old to be a landless knight, Bernard. Wouldn’t you like to be the lord of Keal?”

Bernard recovered himself. “Don’t be a fool, Hugh,” he said sternly.

“You said yourself that I should get away from here,” Hugh pointed out.

“I meant that you should go with Nigel! In the name of God, lad, how do you think you will support yourself if you give up Keal?”

“I have been thinking that perhaps I might try earning my living at the tournaments in France,” Hugh said. He stepped away from the table. “Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have some business I must attend to.” He put his hand upon the carved back of his chair and asked with belated courtesy, “Will you be staying to dinner?”

Bernard set his jaw. “Aye,” he said. “I will stay for dinner.”

“So will I,” said Nigel Haslin.

“How delightful,” said Hugh.

The two older knights stood on the dais and watched the slender figure of their host as he strode to the door and went outside into the cold March morning.

Alone at the table, they turned to look at each other.

“Was he serious?” Nigel asked incredulously.

Bernard sighed. “One never knows with Hugh.”

“I cannot believe he would prefer Matilda to Stephen!”

“He cannot declare for Matilda and continue to hold Keal and his other manors. He knows that. He was just trying to rile us.”

“He was very quick to mention the tournaments in France.” Nigel was seriously agitated. “It seems to me that he has been thinking about this.”

“He won’t go to France,” Bernard said positively. “Adela would not have liked it, and Hugh never does anything that Adela wouldn’t have liked.”

The last of the breaking-fast tables had been stacked against the wall and all of the men had left the hall. Several serving girls were sweeping up the rushes on the floor.

Nigel rested his hand upon his belt, in the place where his sword would normally hang. He scowled. “Why would he refuse so to see the Lady Isabel?”

“I have no idea.” Bernard gestured that the other man should resume his chair. When both were once more sitting, he asked, “Is there any way we can proceed with this business and leave out taking Hugh to see Stephen?”

“I am not prepared to hand Wiltshire over to the empress,” Nigel replied very stiffly.

“I doubt very much that Hugh knows his own mind about who he will support,” Bernard said. His pale blue eyes fixed the dark gaze of the other knight. “I can tell you this, though. Hugh was raised by the most honorable man I ever knew. He
will make his choice based on his judgment as to what is best for the country, not on what is best for himself.”

The serving girls were now sweeping the old rushes into the fire, which flared up with the addition of fresh fuel.

Bernard went on, “From what you have told me of Earl Guy, Hugh is by far the better man.”

After a long moment, Nigel shook his head regretfully. “Hugh simply cannot challenge Guy without the backing of the king.”

“What about the backing of the Church?” Bernard countered.

Nigel’s eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?”

“If Hugh is able positively to name Guy as the man behind his father’s murder, and if he can bring some proof to support his accusation, then Guy will be guilty of fratricide. Under those circumstances, the church will force him to forfeit his brother’s property.”

Nigel made an impatient gesture. “But you have told me that Hugh doesn’t remember anything about his early life.”

“Perhaps revisiting the scenes of his childhood will bring back his memory,” Bernard said. His voice took on a note of gruffness. “Something terrible happened to that boy to make him forget the way he has. In truth, I begin to wonder if perhaps he might have been present when his father was killed.”

“Good God!” said Nigel.

“Aye,” Bernard said. “Such a sight might well cause a seven-year-old to blank out his memory.”

Silence fell as the two men contemplated this harrowing thought.

Finally Nigel said, “What do you want me to do?”

“Convince Hugh to pay a visit to your home. He said earlier in scorn that perhaps you could arrange an interview between him and his uncle. Well…perhaps you can.”

Nigel gave a short bark of laughter. “You want me to introduce Hugh to Guy as his lost nephew? That would be somewhat dangerous, I fear.”

“No, I don’t want you to actually introduce them. I want you to bring Hugh to Chippenham disguised as one of your own knights.” Bernard gave Nigel a piercing look. “You can surely find some reason to pay a visit to Guy?”

“Well, aye…”

“Chippenham was the castle where the old earl was murdered. Isn’t that what you said?”

“Aye. Chippenham has ever been the main castle of the earls of Wiltshire. It is where Hugh grew up.”

“Then take Hugh there. It is possible that once he has returned to the scenes of his childhood, he will begin to remember things.”

“Things that will lead to the truth about his father’s murder?”

“Perhaps,” said Bernard somberly.

After a minute, Nigel let out his breath in a long sigh. “We could try it, I suppose.”

Bernard’s eyes went to the door through which Hugh had exited a few moments before. He nodded slowly.

“The question is: How I am going to get him to agree to visit me?” Nigel said. “You must admit that he has proved markedly uncooperative thus far.”

“He might agree to a visit if we give him time,” Bernard said. “If he has actually been thinking of going off to the French tournaments, he is desperate to get away from here.”

“He is not going to be easy to hide,” Nigel warned. “Once Guy gets a look at his face, he will recognize him as Roger’s son. We may very well be placing Hugh in grave danger.”

The scent of herbs drifted to their nostrils as the serving girls began to sprinkle fresh rushes around the hall.

“He will be in worse danger if he remains here,” Bernard said bleakly. “If we set him to unraveling a thirteen-year-old mystery, it will at least have the benefit of occupying his mind.”

The forest stretched away darkly on either side of the track, but the road itself was wide enough for the late August sun to reach through the trees and reflect off the mail of Hugh and his party of four as they crossed into Wiltshire to begin the final stage of their journey. Purple-red foxglove blossomed along the edges of the road, and the sound of birds flying busily among the deep green branches of the trees accompanied the riders as they trotted steadily along the forest track. The smell of summer was still in the air.

Here and there the mounted company passed small assarts, cut out of the woods by poor farmers willing to work hard for a little land of their own. Otherwise there was just the forest, rich with game waiting to be hunted by some great lord.

What am I doing here?

The thought echoed through Hugh’s mind as he rode his white stallion in the midst of the four knights Nigel Haslin had sent to escort him to Nigel’s home for the visit Hugh had finally agreed to pay.

It had taken him five months to give in. When Nigel had first proposed that Hugh should come to Somerford, he had refused, as he had refused all the subsequent invitations delivered regularly by one of Nigel’s knights.

The last invitation had come on the anniversary of the Battle of the Standard, exactly one year after Ralf’s death. It had caught Hugh at a particularly vulnerable time.

He had thought that after a year, he would be coping better with his life.

He wasn’t. In fact, as the days went by, he felt himself growing more and more disconnected from Keal and the people in it.

For one thing, there wasn’t enough to keep him occupied. He could run Keal, and Ralf’s two other manors, blindfolded with his hands tied behind his back. Bernard had been right when he had said that Hugh was bored. In fact, he was beginning to feel like a sword left to rust in the corner of a castle storeroom.

It had been all right when Ralf was alive. Then they had spent only a part of the year at Keal. The rest of the time Ralf had lived in Lincoln, or traveled the shire administering the king’s justice.

Hugh had gone everywhere with Ralf, had learned everything that Ralf could teach him. He had not needed to serve as a squire in some great lord’s household. He had learned all about being a knight from his foster father, one of the finest men who ever lived.

The steady four-beat thud of horses trotting on dirt sounded in his ears. The escort of unfamiliar knights rode two abreast, before and behind him. The sun shone on the well-kept brown coats of the stallions in front of him.

Why did I agree to go to Somerford?

Hugh drew in a deep breath of the warm, forest-scented air. A small brown bird flew across the track holding a piece of twig in its beak. The twig was larger than the bird.

Hugh drew in another long, steadying breath, and answered his own question.

Because you think it is entirely possible that you might actually be Hugh de Leon, rightful Earl of Wiltshire
.

It was a thought that had haunted him ever since Nigel had left Keal in March. No matter how hard he tried to push it away, it kept creeping back into the conscious levels of his brain.

He was afraid to find out about his past. On the other hand, he wasn’t doing very well with his present, and the future looked even bleaker.

If nothing else, he thought, a visit to Somerford would be a diversion. And it had the added advantage of getting him away from Keal.

One of the knights of his escort, the youngest, pushed his horse forward to trot beside Hugh’s.

“We are but a few hours from Somerford,” the knight, whose name was Thomas, remarked cheerfully. “We should be there well in time for supper.”

Hugh forced himself to smile into the round, freckled face that was beaming at him with such good will. “That is good news,” he said.

“We’ve been lucky that the weather has held so fair,” Thomas said next, and Hugh nodded and made a courteous reply.

They were an hour away from Somerford when the headache started. At first Hugh thought it was just the way the sunlight reflected off the mail of the man in front of him that was bothering his eyes. But then the pain moved into his forehead as well.

By the time the walls and high keep of Somerford Castle appeared in the distance, Hugh was in grave distress.

He said nothing to the men of his escort, just loosened his rein and let his stallion follow the other horses as they approached the great wooden stockade that surrounded the castle bailey.

A moat had been dug around the stockade and a drawbridge was let down across it. The guards in the small towers on either side of the bridge shouted a greeting to their fellows as the five mounted horses and one pack horse trotted over the drawbridge, between the high walls, and into the large bailey.

By now the pain in Hugh’s head was like a firestorm. The sunlight hurt him unbearably and all he wanted was to get away by himself into some dark place.

His stomach heaved and he was desperately afraid he was going to be sick.

He clutched Rufus’s mane with sweaty fingers and, balancing precariously, swung himself down from his saddle.

He took off his helmet, hoping that the lessened weight would help his head.

His mail coif felt as if it were grinding into his skull.

“Hugh! How pleased I am to welcome you to Somerford Castle.”

It was Nigel.

Hugh opened his mouth and spoke. What he said must have been relatively sensible, for Nigel smiled and turned to lead the way up the hill and into the keep.

Hugh followed, clammy and shivering and sick, his head thundering with pain.

They entered through a large door, out of the hot sunshine and into a cooler hall.

Hugh shut his eyes.

When he opened them again, a young girl was standing in front of him. “My daughter, Cristen,” Nigel was saying.

Hugh looked down into a pair of enormous brown eyes. They looked back clearly and then a quiet, low-pitched voice said, “You’re ill. What is wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” Hugh said. “A headache. It has made me rather dizzy, that’s all.”

A small hand closed competently around his wrist. “Come with me,” Nigel’s daughter said.

Hugh went.

She took him across the hall, through two doors, and into a small bedroom.

“You must get out of that mail,” she said. “I’ll send someone to help you.”

Hugh clenched his teeth against the bile he could feel rising in his throat. He would not be sick in front of this girl.
He would not
.

She handed him a bowl.

“Go ahead,” she said practically. “You’ll probably feel better once you clear out your stomach.”

Unfortunately, at this point he had no choice. He gagged, and then the whole of his midday meal came burning up through his throat and into the basin.

When he was finished, she took the mess away from him.

“Here is William,” she said quietly. “He will help you out of your mail. Then get into bed.”

A young boy came forward and Hugh endured the removal of his mail coif and hauberk, his spurs and leather boots. Finally, when he was clad in only his shirt and leggings, he managed to say, “Thank you,” and to crawl mercifully into bed.

The agony did not lessen. If anything, it was getting worse. He shut his eyes against the pale light in the room.

The quiet voice of Nigel’s daughter said, “Try to drink this. It might help.”

He would drink scalding pitch if it would help.

He pushed himself up onto his elbow and swallowed the liquid in the cup she was holding to his lips. Then he lay back down again.

“I have some cold cloths for your forehead,” the girl said.

“Thank you. I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.”

“Don’t be foolish,” she said, and placed something cold on his head.

He shut his eyes again. “Thank you,” he said.

She didn’t reply, but once again he felt her fingers on his wrist. This time she was feeling his pulse.

After a minute, she released his hand and said, “Are you often subject to headaches?”

“No,” he replied in a voice that sounded very far away. “This is the first time.”

“It will pass,” she said reassuringly. “I have seen this kind of headache before and I promise you that it will pass.”

“When?” he asked desperately.

“Within a few hours. Perhaps sooner.”

The pain had begun to throb with the beating of his pulse. How could he stand hours more of this?

“Do you want me to go away?” she asked. “Or do you want me to stay?”

And Hugh, who had thought he wanted nothing more in the world than to be alone, heard himself saying, “Stay.”

The headache lifted two hours later. There was the slight sensation of a hum in his head, and then,
suddenly and absolutely, the pain receded and disappeared.

Slowly he opened his eyes. “It’s gone,” he said in amazement.

The girl, who had been sitting beside him, periodically replenishing the cold cloths on his forehead, stood up.

“Thank God,” she said simply.

He moved his head back and forth on the pillow, testing to see whether or not the pain would return.

Nothing.

He drew in a deep, unsteady breath and let it out again.

“You will be all right now,” the girl said. “I have seen these headaches before. When the pain finally goes away, it does not come back.”

She reached out and removed the cold cloth that was still lying on his forehead.

Hugh looked up, and for the first time he really saw the girl who had been taking care of him.

She was young, sixteen perhaps, and she was lovely. Her face was a perfect, delicate oval, her nose was small and straight, her mouth was tender and yet it looked as if it could also be stern. But it was her eyes that caught and held him; huge brown eyes that looked at him with such directness, such honesty.

She looked at him as if she could see into his very soul.

And Hugh, who revealed himself to no one, looked back.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t remember your name.”

“My name is Cristen.”

He swung his feet to the floor and, slowly and carefully, stood up. She was small; the top of her head reached only to his mouth and he was not a tall man. Her shining brown hair was center-parted and hung rain-straight to her waist. It had the texture of fine silk.

“What is the time?” he asked. For some reason, he knew he did not have to make polite conversation with this girl.

“It is late, after nine o’clock.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, which was damp from the cold, wet cloths. “What must your father think of me?”

“He thinks you were sick, and he will be happy to hear that you are better.” She bent to lift a basket full of cloths from the floor. “Would you like me to send him to see you or would you rather wait until the morning?”

Hugh would much rather wait until the morning.

“If he wishes me to come to the hall, of course I will do so,” he said.

She gave him a severe look. “You are not going into the hall tonight. If you wish to see my father, he will come to you.”

“I shall be happy to see him if that is what he would like,” Hugh responded stoically.

She read him unerringly. “Father Adolphus from Malmesbury Abbey is visiting us, so we will begin the day tomorrow with mass in the chapel at seven. I will tell Father you will see him then.”

“Thank you,” Hugh said. He did not try to disguise his relief. “You have been very kind.”

“I will send a boy with water so you can wash,” she said. “Do you wish something to eat?”

He shook his head, astonished that he felt no pain with the movement. “My stomach is still somewhat uneasy.”

“Would you like me to fix you a potion for it?”

“Thank you, but no. I think all that I need is some sleep.”

She nodded agreement. “I shall wish you a good night, then.”

“My name is Hugh,” he said gravely.

At that, she smiled. “Good night, Hugh.”

And he, who so rarely smiled himself, felt his own lips curve in reply. “Good night,” he said. “Cristen.”

Hugh slept deeply and dreamlessly, only waking when a squire came into his bedroom with water and fresh clothes. He put on his linen drawers while he was still in bed and then he rose to wash in the basin of cold water the boy had brought.

After washing, he put on a clean shirt and hose. Over these went a crimson wool surcoat, with
Adela’s handiwork embroidered on its hem and the edges of its long, tight sleeves. Around his waist he buckled a plain leather belt and on his feet he slipped the soft leather shoes that were the proper footwear for indoors. He ran Adela’s fine wooden comb quickly through his short black hair, then said to the squire, “Can you direct me to the chapel?”

“It is up the stairs,” the boy told him. “If you will come with me, I will take you.”

“Thank you,” Hugh said, and allowed Nigel’s squire to lead him out of the bedroom and into a room that looked as if it might be the family solar. They passed through another door that took them into the great hall. As he crossed the rush-strewn wooden floor in the wake of the servant, Hugh made himself look around, trying to distract himself from his dread of going into the chapel.

The hall was a large room with decent-sized windows thrown open to the summer air. Colorful rugs hung on the stone walls to keep out drafts. There was a large fireplace set into one wall, and two balls of gray fur lay curled in the rushes in front of the empty grate.

The castle cats were taking a rest from their rodent-catching duties, Hugh thought.

The high table was already in place for the morning’s breaking fast, but the trestle tables for the lesser folk were still stacked along the walls.

The room smelled clean. Adela would have approved, Hugh thought.

“This way,” the squire said, and Hugh put his foot on the sturdy wooden staircase that would take him to the third level of the castle.

He saw the open door of the chapel as soon as he reached the top of the stairs. Servants were filing in, but Hugh scarcely noticed them. He was too busy trying to repress the feeling he always got in his stomach whenever he entered a castle chapel.