‘Hugh?’
‘Mmm?’
‘In the morning, I am going with you.’
‘Good morning, my lady.’
Slowly, Aude opened her eyes. Edwige was peering round the edge of the curtain.
‘I have your water, my lady.’
Aude yawned. The mattress next to her was empty, a dent in the pillow being the only sign that Hugh had slept there. ‘Thank you.’
Edwige stepped into the space at the foot of the bed and set a steaming jug on the shelf. A soft light filtered through from the hall, together with the clatter of knives and the mouth-watering smell of fresh bread.
Edwige selected a green gown from Aude’s clothes hook, and put it over her arm. A coffer creaked as she opened it. ‘Your dark veil today, my lady?’
Hugh must have been up early, his tunic—or rather her brother’s tunic—was not to be seen. Aude’s brows snapped together and she sat up with a jolt.
He wouldn’t! Would he?
‘Edwige, where is my husband—is he breaking his fast?’
‘Indeed not. Lord H…your husband rode out at first light.’
‘What?’
Edwige looked up, grey veil in hand. ‘Didn’t he tell you? Your husband and Lord Edouard have set out for Winchester.’
‘No!’ Aude leaped from the bed and snatched the gown and veil from Edwige. ‘Did my brother’s squire accompany them?’
‘No, my lady.’
‘Edouard’s men-at-arms?’
‘Why, no, my lady.’
Aude gritted her teeth. ‘What about my knights—I don’t suppose they went with them either?’
‘No, my lady, they went alone.’
‘God’s Grace!’ Aude bent hastily over the ewer and splashed her face. Her maid’s mouth pursed; she disapproved of Aude’s language. ‘There’s no need to look like that, Edwige, they should have taken someone with them.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
Aude struggled into the green gown, heart banging like a battle drum. ‘My lacings, and quickly.’
When it came to her veil, she batted Edwige’s hand away. She didn’t think there was time. ‘I can manage the rest. Find Raoul. And Sir Olivier. Tell them.’ She checked herself. ‘No, ask them to saddle two horses at once.’
‘You are going after them?’
‘Yes. Yes. Hurry, please!’
With a swift nod, Edwige dived through the curtains.
‘Sir Olivier, I am happy we are in accord,’ Aude concluded, as the city walls of Winchester came into view. ‘I would have been most upset if my marriage to Hugh had lost me a good knight.’
Sir Olivier gave her a straight look. ‘I cannot say I was delighted, my lady, but from the start you explained that you would not marry me. I see now why that was. You have known your husband for many years, have you not?’
They were approaching the river, one of the city gates lay on the other side of the bridge. As they clattered over the bridge, Aude flushed and shot him a look. It didn’t seem to matter what she said to the contrary—her feelings for Hugh seemed to be public knowledge.
She cleared her throat. ‘Be that as it may, I would like you to stay on at Alfold, Sir Olivier. Whatever the outcome of my husband’s affairs, I will still have need of a trustworthy knight to act as my steward.’
Sir Olivier’s smile reached his eyes. ‘Thank you, my lady, you honour me. I shall do my best not to disappoint you or your husband.’
Nodding, Aude looked blindly at the approaching gate. Sir Olivier had not taken offence at her marriage and it was a relief to have him accept the role of her steward. And it was certainly most heartening to have him act as though he never doubted that she and Hugh had a future together.
Dear God, please let that be true.
Chapter Fourteen
Hugh and Edouard had ridden unhindered into the heart of Winchester right up to New Minster itself. At the Abbey gate house, they had been asked to disarm and since to have refused would have roused suspicion, they had left their swords in the care of the porter while they searched out the scriptorium. Hugh could only hope swords would not be needed; the monks here were surely men of peace.
The doors of the scriptorium was latched open, and the desks arranged in semi-circles to make the most of the light. Several tonsured heads looked up as Hugh and Edward’s shadows fell across their work.
Hugh caught a swift impression of rank on rank of desks, of black-robed monks bent diligently over creamy vellum. Of quiet concentration. The cathedral bells had been ringing, but as the chimes faded more subtle sounds could be heard—the diligent scratching of quills on parchment, the buzzing of a large blowfly lurching across the room.
The nearest monk was painstakingly outlining the blue robes of a golden-haloed angel who made up part of an illuminated letter. The blue was made, Hugh knew, from crushed lapis lazuli and was almost as costly as the gold. The manuscripts made in this scriptorium were the equal of any in Christendom, and this angel in his flowing robes was as likely to end up in the hands of Queen Mathilda as a prince of the church.
The monk’s tongue peeped out as he worked on a fold of the angel’s robe.
‘Excuse me, brother,’ Hugh said.
The quill went still and the monk looked up, squinting in a way that told of many years hunched over lettering. His eyes might be good for close work, but otherwise his sight would be poor.
‘Which is Abbot Wulfric?’ Hugh asked. He was praying Abbot Wulfric could tell him where Brother Baldwin was to be found.
‘Abbot Wulfric? He’s not here.’
Damn. Hugh ex changed glances with Edouard. ‘We were told the Abbot was here.’
‘You were misinformed, sir.’
Another monk rose from his desk and limped slowly towards them, the moth-eaten hem of his black habit dragging on the flagged floor. He had wrinkled red cheeks and a back that was bowed with time. ‘I will deal with this, brother.’
The first monk returned to his angel, his quill dipped into his inkpot.
‘Abbot Wulfric is at Nunnaminster this morning,’ the aged monk said. ‘They are professing some of the novices and Abbot Wulfric is officiating.’
Out in the court yard, a dog began to bark, and for no reason that Hugh could point to the hairs rose on the back of his neck.
Everything snapped into focus. Time seemed to stop. Light was still pouring in through the doorway, the sun was warm on his neck, yet ice slithered down his spine.
On the surface the atmosphere in the scriptorium remained the same, but was it his imagination or were that monk’s ink-stained fingers clenched a little too tightly around his quill? Was the quiet here, rather than being one of calm diligence, one of expectation? Or dread?
But what the devil could a roomful of monks have to fear?
At his elbow, Edouard swore softly under his breath, apparently coming to the same conclusion.
‘A blind alley,’ Hugh muttered. ‘We are in a blind alley.’
Simultaneously, he and Edouard reached for their non-existent swords.
The dog yelped and fell silent. Hugh heard the tramp of many boots and a soft chink which Edouard would recognise as easily as he.
‘Armed soldiers,’ Hugh murmured as he turned. A dozen mailed troopers faced them with the sunlight bouncing off their conical helmets. Men who would have no qualms about drawing their swords within the confines of a monastery.
Hugh’s mind raced. Out in the court yard they might have had a chance, but what sort of a fight could two unarmed men offer in an Abbey scriptorium? The place was full of monks—resistance would only lead to innocent and holy men being hurt.
Behind him, a monk gasped. Stools scraped as they were hastily shoved back. And then the soldiers were on them.
‘You there!’ One of the soldiers looked directly at Hugh. Their commander, he supposed. ‘Give me your name.’
Hugh hesitated—he did not want to give his true name, but he disliked prevarication and his instincts were tellin
g him that this man already knew who he was.
Edouard stepped forwards, an easy smile on his lips. ‘This is Hugh of Alfold. And lest you are wondering, I am the Count of Corbeil, Lord of Crèvecoeur. Hugh has married my sister.’ He lifted a brow. ‘And who might you be?’
‘Captain Godfrey of Caen.’ Behind his nose guard, the man’s eyes were sharp.
‘You and your men are mercenaries?’ Hugh asked.
If, as he suspected, this man did indeed know his identity, it was possible his troopers were in the pay of the Bishop of St Aubin. But whoever they answered to, they were likely to be the men who had given chase on his earlier visit to Winchester. These men had wounded Gil. ‘Who is your paymaster?’
The captain ignored Hugh’s question, his smile was cynical. ‘Hugh of Alfold? I think not. I believe I am addressing Hugh Duclair, the former Count de Freyncourt. I cannot imagine what you are doing in Wessex.’
How did the man know? Had someone from Alfold informed on him? Sir Ralph? Sir William? No matter.
Hugh ran his eyes round the court yard. The walls were too tall, even supposing he made it that far; those troopers were braced to fall on them the moment they so much as breathed. Incongruously, he noticed a rook, a black ragged shape flying across the clear blue vault of the sky.
‘No, Captain Godfrey, you are mistaken,’ Edouard was saying. ‘This is Hugh of Alfold.’
Hugh swore under his breath. Edouard’s un wavering loyalty had him ham strung. Whatever he did, he would not drag his friend down with him. And that, Hugh thought, eyeing the troopers, was a definite possibility. For Edouard’s sake, a dash for freedom was out of the question.
With a last regretful glance at the Captain’s men pressing close behind him, at the high wall beyond, Hugh laid a hand on Edouard’s arm. ‘Enough, the time for denials is over.’
‘Hugh, for God’s sake—’
‘Enough! Edouard, your friend ship means much to me, but the rest of this road is mine to tread, mine alone.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Think of yourself, think of Aude.’
The Captain’s lip curled and the point of his sword came to rest against Hugh’s throat. ‘Your life will be forfeit when the King discovers you have broken the terms of your banishment. You should not be here.’
The aged monk stretched out a pleading hand. ‘No blood shed, sir! I pray you, no blood shed.’
The Captain let out a curt laugh. ‘Never fear, Brother, this man’s blood is not mine to spill. He goes to the King to explain his conduct; the King will decide his fate.’
In the doorway behind the Captain, the troopers stirred. Someone was forcing their way through.
‘Let me pass! If you please, let me pass!’
Aude! Blast the woman, she should be safe at Alfold…
The point of the Captain’s sword pricked coldly at Hugh’s throat. Arms clattered and boots scraped on stone as the troopers parted to make a way for her.
Briefly, Hugh closed his eyes. You fool, Aude, you have already dug yourself in too deep, I did not want you digging any deeper.
Direct as ever, and with her head high, Aude went straight to the Captain. Sir Olivier was shadowing her. Thank God she had the sense to bring an escort with her.
Aude fixed the Captain with a look that Hugh had first seen her use in the midst of a childish quarrel with Edouard. ‘If you please, sir, would you mind telling me why you have my husband at sword point?’ To Hugh’s astonishment, an imperious wave of her hand had Captain Godfrey grounding his sword. Nonetheless, the man’s grip on his hilt remained firm.
The Captain drew in a breath. ‘And you must be…?’
‘Lady Aude of Alfold. Who are you?’
‘Godfrey of Caen, Captain.’
Aude glanced swiftly round the scriptorium, taking in the monks huddled by the walls and those with their quills suspended over their desks. She nodded briefly at Edouard and himself. ‘What is going on, Captain?’
‘Your husband is under arrest.’
She went pale, her cheeks milk-white against the grey of her veil and the green of her gown. Hugh would have gone to her, but the captain’s sword glittered and a pricking at his throat held him in place.
‘Why?’ Her voice was little more than a whisper.
‘The former Count de Freyncourt has been banished from all of King William’s territories. I am under orders to see that he is taken to account for his unlawful presence here in England.’
‘Edouard…’ She clutched her brother’s sleeve. ‘There must be some thing we can do!’
Edouard shook his head. ‘Aude, we are powerless to prevent this. We are three men with—’ Sir Olivier received a wry glance ‘—but one sword between us. What may we do against an entire troop?’
‘Edouard’s talking sense,’ Hugh spoke through gritted teeth. ‘But you should not have come, you must have realised I did not want you here.’
She drew her head sharply back, hurt large in her eyes. ‘Where should I be but at your side?’
‘I did not want you here.’ Hugh was praying that Aude would keep her head. It was a struggle to remain calm because sight of her had his stomach in knots. If she were hurt… ‘You may lower your sword, Captain. I will come quietly, I want no trouble for my wife and friends, you under stand?’
The sword wavered and re treated an inch. ‘You swear?’
‘On my father’s grave.’
The sword wavered and fell. ‘If it comes to the King’s ears that your friends have been supporting you, they may find them selves brought to judgement in any case.’
‘If I make no trouble—’ Hugh made his voice hard ‘—I see no reason why their names should be dragged into this.’
Aude opened her mouth, but before she could speak Edouard took her hand and placed it on his arm. ‘Come, Aude—’ he turned for the door ‘—there is nothing we can do here.’
Hell, she was digging in her heels.
‘No! Edouard, you cannot simply accept this!’
She wrenched free, the grey veil swirled, and she planted herself back in front of the captain. ‘You are the King’s man?’
‘Yes.’
‘You have his ear?’
‘My commander does.’
‘If the King knows Hugh Duclair as I do, he cannot believe there is a disloyal bone in his body.’
The sun flickered across his helmet as the Captain shook his head. ‘My lady, the Bishop of St Aubin over heard him discussing sedition with one of the Flemish—’
‘Bishop Osmund is a liar,’ Hugh said, as calmly as he could.
The captain’s mouth thinned, his knuckles whitened on his sword hilt—both signs of a temper held on a short leash. With half the brothers of New Minster as wit nesses, Hugh doubted that the captain would strike Aude, but the sooner Captain Godfrey was away from her, the better. Cold sweat trickled down his back.
‘The Bishop of St Aubin,’ Hugh continued, pitching his voice so the monks at the far end of the scriptorium might hear, ‘had my father’s silver in mind when he made those accusations. He wanted to line his own coffers.’
‘Silver? I’ve not heard of any silver.’
‘Captain, you will know it is common practice to leave valuables in the care of the Church. Before my father died, he deposited several chests with Bishop Osmund for safe-keeping. My father, rest his soul, thought the Freyncourt silver would be safe. Sadly, that faith was misplaced. I am in England not to under mine the King’s position, but to prove my innocence. How the devil can I do that if I am holed up in some God-forsaken spot in Apulia? It was necessary for me to come here in person.’
The eyes behind the nose guard were little more than slits. ‘You’re lying. This tale about Freyncourt silver is but a cover to explain your presence here while you work against the King.’ He jerked his head at the soldier next to him. ‘Sergeant?’
‘Sir?’
‘Take him away, we shall have the truth out of him before he is brought to court. The King is away in East Anglia at prese
nt, but when he returns…’
‘No!’ Aude flung herself at Hugh, fingers curling into his belt. ‘You cannot take him!’
‘My lady, stand aside.’
Hugh peeled Aude’s fingers from his belt and pushed her towards Edouard. His arms were wrenched behind him.
‘I have proof, Captain,’ Hugh said. ‘A document that has been signed and sealed. I had planned for wit nesses to the signatures to back me up, but I would be grateful if you did take me to the King. Then I might present him with this proof in person.’
The captain sheathed his sword with a snap. ‘You are a liar. The document you speak of is a forgery.’
‘For pity’s sake, listen!’ Aude burst out. ‘Hugh is no liar, if he says he has this document, then that’s the truth!’
She believed in him. There was a slight catch in her voice, but conviction was shining out of her eyes. Hugh’s chest ached—Aude believed in him. One good thing had emerged from this messy trail of lies and deceit and it was staring at him with large amber eyes. Honest eyes, eyes that he would hold in his mind till his dying day. He intercepted a calculating sneer from the captain—Lord, his dying day might not be so far off…
‘This document, Hugh,’ Aude was asking urgently. ‘Where is it?’
‘It is—’
The captain’s fist shot out. Pain erupted in Hugh’s jaw and everything went black.
Aude lurched forwards to break Hugh’s fall, but Edouard got there first.
‘You bastard!’ Aude was shaking in every limb. ‘There was no need for that!’
‘There was every need. This man has been banished and his word is suspect. You and you—’ the captain gestured ‘—remove him.’ One trooper stepped forwards to take Hugh by the feet, another by the shoulders. ‘Stop!’ Aude could see she was wasting her breath, it was there in the set of the captain’s jaw, in the emptiness of his eyes. Edouard’s arm came around her.
The troops tramped out. Hugh’s limp body was jerked unceremoniously over the thresh old.
‘Where are you taking him?’ she demanded. A cold stone was sitting in her belly. Hugh had been furious with her, furious. He had not wanted her here. Even though they were married, even after last night, he was yet to trust her.
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