Lincoln?”
“Aye.” Hugh crossed to the chest, removed the lamp that was perched on one side of it, and sat down. He pushed his mail coif off and ran his fingers through his matted-down hair. Then he rubbed his neck as if it ached.
Bernard watched him. “You should have waited before you sought me out,” he scolded. “You need a bath and a meal.”
A glimmer of amusement showed in Hugh’s gray eyes. “You needn’t sit next to me if you find my smell offensive.”
Bernard wrinkled his nose in disgust. “No smell can be as offensive as the odor of this stinking dungeon.”
Hugh’s elegant nostrils pinched together. “I have been trying not to inhale too deeply.”
Bernard grinned, reminiscing. “Ralf used to say that if ever Adela found her way down here, she would make him have every inch of the dungeon scoured with lye soap.”
Hugh smiled faintly. “That would certainly have made your stay more pleasant.”
Bernard joined him on the bench, the smile dying away from his face. “Have you heard that they found me clutching the murder weapon?” he asked.
“Aye,” Hugh replied grimly. “And I also heard of the very unwise words you apparently let drop at the Nettle.”
Bernard groaned.
Hugh said, “I want you to tell me everything you know. I want to hear everything that happened from the time that Gilbert de Beauté first entered Lincoln until the moment you found him dead in the Minster.”
The cell was so cold and damp that their breath hung in the air. Bernard coughed and lifted the rough wool blanket to drape once more around his shoulders.
“The visit actually started out well enough,” he began, and then went on to tell Hugh about the bishop’s dinner to welcome the earl and his daughter, andabout the various hunting parties in which both the earl and the sheriff had taken part.
“The trouble began when de Beauté began to criticize Gervase’s military preparedness,” Bernard continued. He spoke in some detail about the defenses Lord Gilbert had proposed to supersede the ones that the sheriff had put in place.
Hugh listened in silence.
Bernard said disgustedly, “It was clear to all of us at the castle that the earl was trying to show that he had more authority than the sheriff. There is not a single thing wrong with Gervase’s military dispositions.”
He gave Hugh a sober look.
“He’s a good sheriff, Gervase Canville. He’s not Ralf—there could never be another Ralf—but he knows his job, and he executes it with judgment and intelligence.”
Hugh’s eyes were focused on his ungloved hands, which rested loosely on the skirt of his mail hauberk. He didn’t reply.
After a moment, Bernard began to recount the story of the night Gilbert de Beauté was killed.
Toward the end of his recitation, Hugh interrupted him with a question. “The message that supposedly came to you from the sheriff was verbal, not written?”
“Aye. It was brought by William Cobbett, one of the castle grooms. He told me that the sheriff wanted me to meet him in the Minster two hours after evening services were done.”
“Didn’t you think such a request was rather strange?”
“I thought it was very strange,” Bernard replied frankly. “But the groom could tell me no more.”
“Did you ask the groom if he had received the message from Gervase directly?”
“I didn’t think to ask him,” Bernard replied. “At the time, I didn’t think it was important.” He rubbed his forehead. “It’s important now, of course, because Gervase claims he sent no such message.”
Hugh drummed the fingers of his left hand with slow deliberation on the overlapping metal circles of his hauberk skirt. “So what we can assume, then, is that someone deliberately set out to lure you to the Minster at that particular hour.”
“It certainly seems that way,” Bernard agreed. He coughed again. “What I don’t understand is why I was sent there.”
Hugh turned to look at him, eyebrows lifted.
“Aye.” Hugh crossed to the chest, removed the lamp that was perched on one side of it, and sat down. He pushed his mail coif off and ran his fingers through his matted-down hair. Then he rubbed his neck as if it ached.
Bernard watched him. “You should have waited before you sought me out,” he scolded. “You need a bath and a meal.”
A glimmer of amusement showed in Hugh’s gray eyes. “You needn’t sit next to me if you find my smell offensive.”
Bernard wrinkled his nose in disgust. “No smell can be as offensive as the odor of this stinking dungeon.”
Hugh’s elegant nostrils pinched together. “I have been trying not to inhale too deeply.”
Bernard grinned, reminiscing. “Ralf used to say that if ever Adela found her way down here, she would make him have every inch of the dungeon scoured with lye soap.”
Hugh smiled faintly. “That would certainly have made your stay more pleasant.”
Bernard joined him on the bench, the smile dying away from his face. “Have you heard that they found me clutching the murder weapon?” he asked.
“Aye,” Hugh replied grimly. “And I also heard of the very unwise words you apparently let drop at the Nettle.”
Bernard groaned.
Hugh said, “I want you to tell me everything you know. I want to hear everything that happened from the time that Gilbert de Beauté first entered Lincoln until the moment you found him dead in the Minster.”
The cell was so cold and damp that their breath hung in the air. Bernard coughed and lifted the rough wool blanket to drape once more around his shoulders.
“The visit actually started out well enough,” he began, and then went on to tell Hugh about the bishop’s dinner to welcome the earl and his daughter, andabout the various hunting parties in which both the earl and the sheriff had taken part.
“The trouble began when de Beauté began to criticize Gervase’s military preparedness,” Bernard continued. He spoke in some detail about the defenses Lord Gilbert had proposed to supersede the ones that the sheriff had put in place.
Hugh listened in silence.
Bernard said disgustedly, “It was clear to all of us at the castle that the earl was trying to show that he had more authority than the sheriff. There is not a single thing wrong with Gervase’s military dispositions.”
He gave Hugh a sober look.
“He’s a good sheriff, Gervase Canville. He’s not Ralf—there could never be another Ralf—but he knows his job, and he executes it with judgment and intelligence.”
Hugh’s eyes were focused on his ungloved hands, which rested loosely on the skirt of his mail hauberk. He didn’t reply.
After a moment, Bernard began to recount the story of the night Gilbert de Beauté was killed.
Toward the end of his recitation, Hugh interrupted him with a question. “The message that supposedly came to you from the sheriff was verbal, not written?”
“Aye. It was brought by William Cobbett, one of the castle grooms. He told me that the sheriff wanted me to meet him in the Minster two hours after evening services were done.”
“Didn’t you think such a request was rather strange?”
“I thought it was very strange,” Bernard replied frankly. “But the groom could tell me no more.”
“Did you ask the groom if he had received the message from Gervase directly?”
“I didn’t think to ask him,” Bernard replied. “At the time, I didn’t think it was important.” He rubbed his forehead. “It’s important now, of course, because Gervase claims he sent no such message.”
Hugh drummed the fingers of his left hand with slow deliberation on the overlapping metal circles of his hauberk skirt. “So what we can assume, then, is that someone deliberately set out to lure you to the Minster at that particular hour.”
“It certainly seems that way,” Bernard agreed. He coughed again. “What I don’t understand is why I was sent there.”
Hugh turned to look at him, eyebrows lifted.
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