Joan Wolf - No Dark Place

Bernard said composedly, “Hugh, this is Nigel Haslin of Somerford Castle in Wiltshire. He has traveled a long way in order to speak to you.”

Outside it must have begun to rain, because there was a fine mist of drops on Hugh’s black hair. He unfastened his cloak and stood there in a leather jerkin and beautifully embroidered shirt. Bernard recognized Adela’s talented workmanship.

A young boy came on quiet feet to take the damp cloak and put a cup of ale into Hugh’s hand.

Hugh didn’t drink, just stood there looking at Nigel, waiting.

Nigel shot a quick glance at Bernard. “This is not business that ought to be discussed in front of others,” he said.

Hugh frowned.

“It’s important, lad,” Bernard assured him. “Why don’t you take Nigel upstairs to the solar and talk to him there?”

For a long moment, Hugh didn’t reply. At last he said softly, “Very well,” and, without looking at either man, he turned and led the way to the stairs that went from the hall up to the third level of the addition.

There were two doors at the top of the stairs and Hugh opened one, which led into a large comfortable room with tapestry-covered walls and heavy, carved, cushioned furniture. At least the room would have been comfortable, Nigel thought, if all the windows had not been open to let in the cold, damp, rainy air. There was no fireplace in this room, just a tiled hearth place in the center that contained an unlit charcoal brazier. The floor was swept bare.

Hugh made no move to invite him to sit but stood there in silence, waiting.

Nigel looked at the beautiful, wary face in front of him.

He had to be Isabel’s son. Those cheekbones…that mouth…

Nigel took a deep breath and began to speak. The minutes went by like hours as Bernard waited for the two men to come back downstairs. But when Nigel finally returned to the hall, he was alone.

“Well?” Bernard said urgently as the other knight joined him in front of the warm fire.

Nigel’s mouth was tight. “He doesn’t believe me. He says it cannot be true.”

Bernard heaved himself to his feet. “Was he upset?”

“Who knows?” Nigel said. “That is a boy who shows nothing on his face. All I can tell you is that he was adamant that he cannot possibly be the son of Roger, Earl of Wiltshire.”

“You told him about the resemblance? About the left-handedness?”

“Of course I told him those things,” Nigel responded impatiently. “He didn’t listen. All he would do is deny it.”

“Let me talk to him,” Bernard said.

“He is where I left him,” Nigel said a little bitterly. “He dismissed me out of hand.”

Slowly Bernard climbed the stairs to the next level, bracing himself for what he was going to find. He owed it to Ralf to do his best for Hugh. He just wished he knew what the best thing was.

Hugh was standing in the middle of the room, staring down at the empty brazier, when Bernard came in.

The room was freezing. Without comment, Bernard went around closing the shutters.

“Adela would have had the brazier lit and the shutters closed,” he said to Hugh’s back.

“I told them to air it out today. I never sit here anymore,” Hugh said.

The solar had been the gathering place for the family that no longer existed.

Bernard glanced toward the two doors that opened off the solar. They led to two bedrooms. One had belonged to Ralf and Adela and one had belonged to Hugh. From the previous night, Bernard knew that Hugh still used his bedroom. Privacy had always been of paramount importance to him.

Bernard said, “What did you think of Nigel’s story?”

At that, Hugh swung around to face him. “How long have you known of this?” he demanded.

“He saw you at Northallerton and approached me,” Bernard said.

“Why did you tell him about me?” Hugh asked furiously. “Why did you tell him about my memory?”

Bernard had been prepared for shock. He had not been prepared for this anger. “Hugh,” he said carefully. “Think. It may just be possible that you are this Hugh de Leon. At any rate, you cannot dismiss the possibility out of hand.”

“Aye, I can. I am Hugh Corbaille. I do not want or need to be anyone else.”

Nigel refused to flinch before the flame of Hugh’s anger. He said as reasonably as he could, “Before you were Hugh Corbaille you were someone else. You know that. I know that. Why is it so impossible that you were not this lost boy?”

Hugh pushed his still damp hair off of his forehead. “Because I would know it if I were. Do you think I would forget being the heir to such greatness?”

Bernard persevered. “You might have. Something happened to make you forget your past. That you cannot deny.”

“I forgot my past because it was best for me to forget it. Terrible things happened to me…”

Abruptly the boy broke off. His eyes, huge and shocked, met those of Bernard.

“What terrible things, Hugh?” Bernard asked gently.

Hugh shook his head mutely and turned his back on the knight.

“I don’t remember,” he said.

And he didn’t want to remember, Bernard realized at last.

It was time, Bernard thought, to speak a few home truths.

“You are wasted here, lad,” he said bluntly. “If you had not been so young, it is highly likely that you would have been appointed sheriff after Ralf. You have the knack of leadership. Men look to you. From the time you were sixteen and Ralf first brought you to the castle with him, you have been a presence. There is more for you to do with your life than to collect rents and see that your lands are farmed.”

Hugh shook his head but didn’t reply.

“You are bored to death here,” Bernard said. “Admit it.”

Hugh said, “The present Earl of Wiltshire is one of the most powerful men in the land. It is mad to think that I could take his place.”

Still speaking to Hugh’s back, Bernard said, “You would make a good earl. It may even be in your blood.”

As Hugh swung around to face him, Bernard said deliberately, “I never would have thought that Ralf could rear a coward.”

Hugh’s chin came up. His gray eyes glittered. He said levelly, “Don’t try me too hard, Bernard.”

Prudently, Bernard gave ground. “Just think about it, lad. That is all I ask of you. This is not an opportunity to throw away.”

Hugh’s body was rigid with resistance.

“Why are you so anxious to see me make a fool of myself?” he asked bitterly.

“I think this Nigel Haslin is honest,” Bernard said. “I think his story is worth pursuing, at least for a little bit.”

And to himself he added, Anything is worth getting you away from here .

“Will you think about it, at least?” he said.

There was a line like a sword between Hugh’s straight black brows. “I will think about it,” he said.

Trestle tables were set up in the hall for supper, and Nigel sat at the high table with Hugh and Bernard.

The only women in the hall were a few servants who sat at one of the lower tables. At the high table they were served by two young boys. As it was Lent, the main course consisted of a sauced mullet, which tasted deliciously fresh, to Nigel’s surprise and delight. The three men discussed the latest news from court, the chief tidbit being that Stephen had succeeded in getting his brother, Henry, Bishop of Winchester, appointed papal legate, thus making him superior in rank to the Archbishop of Canterbury.

No further word was mentioned of the Earl of Wiltshire.

After supper was over and the trestle tables were being scrubbed with sand and removed, Hugh and the two older knights moved back to the fire.

In one of the corners, a man had taken out a lute and was strumming it.