Joan Wolf - The Poisoned Serpent

It was Sunday afternoon and the Somerford household had finished dinner and were disposed comfortably around the great hall, listening to Reginald’s mellow baritone. The hall door opened and one of the knights on gate duty came striding across the floor to where Nigel, bundled in a warm, fur-lined mantle, was ensconced in a chair by the fire.

“There is a man here from Lincoln, Sir Nigel,” the knight announced. “He says he is bearing news for Lord Hugh from one Bernard Radvers.”

Hugh was sitting on a footstool with his back propped against Cristen’s chair. He straightened up, and his black brows snapped together in a formidable frown.

“Send him in,” Nigel said.

Hugh recognized the stocky, middle-aged messenger immediately. He was John Melan, a knight who had long served as one of the guards at Lincoln Castle.

John’s sword clanked as he strode across the rush-strewn floor. He carried his helmet under his arm, and had pushed back his mail coif to reveal fine brown hair that had begun to recede from his high forehead.

“Hugh!” he said when he saw the object of his search. Then his face, already red from the cold, flushed even redder. “That is… my lord .”

“I think I had better wait to hear what you have to tell me, John, before I say that I am glad to see you,” Hugh replied austerely.

The knight grimaced. Then he glanced around the hall at the listening household.

“I wonder if we might speak somewhere in private,” he said to Hugh.

“Go into the solar, lad,” Nigel recommended in a voice that had almost fully regained its strength. “You will be undisturbed there.”

Hugh hesitated, then rose slowly to his feet. He did not look happy.

“Very well, sir,” he said to Nigel. Then to John Melan, “Come with me.”

There was utter silence in the hall as the two men began to cross the floor in the direction of the solar. Finally Cristen said gently, “Will you continue with your song, Reginald?”

“Aye, my lady.” Reginald cleared his throat and picked up his place in the French love song he had been singing. After a moment, Thomas once more acompanied him on the lute.

In the solar, Hugh looked with narrowed eyes at the knight from Lincoln and, dispensing with pleasantries, said, “So, John, what is it that you have to tell me?”

The stocky knight planted his feet, looked steadily back at Hugh, and said, “I thought you should know that Gilbert de Beauté has been murdered and Bernard Radvers stands accused of doing the deed.”

He had the satisfaction of seeing Hugh’s eyes widen with shock. “Gilbert de Beauté has been murdered?”

“Aye, my lord. He was found in the Minster, stabbed to death. Unfortunately, Bernard was found there with him, a knife in his hand.”

“Bernard would never stab a man to death in a church,” Hugh said immediately.

At that response, John’s facial muscles relaxed. Obviously he had not been prepared for the seeming hostility with which Hugh had greeted him.

“Of course he wouldn’t,” the knight agreed. “But there is no denying the fact that he was found in a very suspicious situation. As there are no other suspects, the sheriff was obliged to arrest Bernard.”

Hugh looked puzzled. “What motive could Bernard possibly have for wanting to kill Gilbert de Beauté?”

John said, “He was supposed to have done it in order to help you.”

The line between Hugh’s slim brows sharpened. “That is ridiculous. How could the death of the Earl of Lincoln possibly help me?”

John replied stoically, “You see, my lord, it is known in Lincoln that you are betrothed to Lord Gilbert’s daughter. The thinking is that Bernard killed Lord Gilbert so that, when you marry the Lady Elizabeth, you will automatically become the new earl.”

There was absolute silence in the room. The afternoon light coming in the partially shuttered window glinted off Hugh’s black hair. The brazier in the solar was unlit and the room was cold.

John shifted from one foot to the other, waiting for Hugh to reply.

At last Hugh said in a constricted voice, “That is ridiculous.”

“Aye, my lord. It is ridiculous to anyone who knows Bernard. But you see, there are…other…circumstances.”

Hugh looked grim. He gestured the knight toward Nigel’s chair. “Sit down, John.”

John Melan gratefully subsided into the large, high-backed chair with the lion’s paw armrests that belonged to the lord of the castle. Hugh slowly took the smaller chair directly opposite that was Cristen’s usual seat. “You had better tell me all,” he said.

John was happy to comply. “As you know, my lord, de Beauté was only recently appointed earl, and he had come to Lincoln Castle to meet with the sheriff. However, instead of approving the sheriff’s very competent defense dispositions for the shire-which all expected him to do-the earl ordered changes.” His eyes flashed with anger. “If I may say so, my lord, the changes were very ill-advised. We all knew it. De Beauté may be good at bringing lawsuits, but he knows nothing about military matters.”

Hugh nodded, his face expressionless.

“It made us all angry-all of us in the castle guard, that is. Most of us had served under your foster father before we served Gervase Canville, and we know military matters. The new earl’s ideas were foolish in the extreme.”

Hugh was silent, waiting for the story to continue.

The knight’s lips tightened. “The night before Lord Gilbert was murdered, a group of us who were off duty got together at the Nettle.” The Nettle was the local inn most favored by the castle knights.

John gave Hugh a somewhat defiant look. “We had a little too much to drink.”

Hugh’s face didn’t change.

John met his eyes. “One or two of the other patrons heard Bernard say that Lord Gilbert would do us a favor by dying so that his prospective son-in-law- you -could become the earl.”

Hugh’s prolonged silence made John shift uncomfortably on his chair.

“It was just the drink talking, my lord!” he said. “Anyone who knows Bernard knows that!”

Hugh finally spoke. “But the very next night, Bernard was found, knife in hand, next to the murdered body of Gilbert de Beauté.” His voice was calm and even.

“Aye, my lord,” John said miserably.

“What does Bernard say happened?”

“He says that he received a message from the sheriff to meet him in the Minster, my lord. The message was delivered by one of the castle grooms.”

“Does the groom corroborate this?”

“The groom can corroborate nothing, my lord. When the sheriff looked for him to verify Bernard’s story, he was found stabbed to death.”

An intimidating silence fell.

The knight shifted again on his seat and continued, “The sheriff had no option but to arrest Bernard, my lord. And I’m very much afraid that, unless the true culprit is found, he will hang.”

Hugh asked in a neutral tone, “And what is it that you wish me to do?”

John pulled his stocky body into an erect position, lifted his chin, and announced, “I want you to come back to Lincoln with me, my lord, and save Bernard.”

Hugh smiled, but it was a smile totally without humor. “That is a rather large commission.”

“Your father would want you to try,” John said. “Ralf had a great value for Bernard.”

“Aye,” Hugh returned. “I know he did.”

“You should know that I have come here on my own,” the knight said. “Bernard is not asking help of you; I am.”

After a long moment, Hugh gave a long sigh of resignation and leaned back in his chair.

“I am flattered by your trust, John,” he said mildly. “I cannot promise results, but I will go to Lincoln with you and try my best to discover who really killed Gilbert de Beauté.”