sparse dark hair and narrow pinched face he already had the look of one older than his years. When they had arrived in Lincoln, he had gone up to the top of one of the castle towers and looked longingly at the bulk of the cathedral, its spire rising straight up into the sky beyond the castle wall, as though reaching for heaven. Perhaps it had been this excitement that had brought on a bout of his illness, for even while he had become entranced at being so near his objective, his breathing had become shallow and his throat had begun to constrict, shutting off life-giving air. He had been immediately put to bed and given a soothing drink containing poppy seed juice to calm him. A leech had been called and, after letting blood from Baldwin’s arm to restore the balance of the humours in his sickly frame, had ordered that he be kept in bed until he recovered.
That had been the day after they had arrived, almost a week ago, and now he was, if not fully recovered, at least able to stand and walk a little way without discomfort. It had been Alys’s idea for him to ride the pony and he was grateful to her for the suggestion. She had been his betrothed for many years now, since almost before he could remember, and she was dear to him, for she treated him in much the way his mother did, and with a sisterly affection that Alinor, for all that he knew she loved him, was not gentle natured enough to display.
As they crossed the broad swathe of road that was Ermine Street, a few flakes of snow fluttered through the air. The party were all well wrapped in cloaks, especially Baldwin, but still they felt the cold chill on the air, and when the cathedral bells rang out the office of Tierce, the sound seemed to shatter before it reached them, as though the bells themselves were frozen.
Renault was leading Baldwin’s pony, with Osbert striding along beside. Alys and Alinor followed, matching their steps with each other as parishioners on their way to attend Mass thronged through the gate with them. Hugo brought up the rear, his attention seemingly focused within, a frown between his heavy straight brows. The crowd around the group was thicker than usual. Word had just reached the city that Hugh, Bishop of Lincoln, who had taken ill in London some two months before, had fallen into a decline and was feared to be near death. Hugh of Avalon was a much-loved cleric, not only for his warmth and piety, but also for the many good works he had sponsored since he had taken over the bishopric fourteen years before. He had caused lazar houses to be built, taken care of the poor, and cajoled prominent citizens into helping rebuild and improve the fabric of the cathedral, badly damaged in an earthquake in 1185. His demise, if it came, would bring sorrow to all his flock, not only to the high born, but to the low as well.
Now the people of Lincoln were assiduous in attending Masses all over the city, sending up their prayers for the bishop’s recovery, fervently hoping that God would hear their pleas and save the saintly Hugh. As the little group went into the cathedral to stand with the rest of the congregation, all of the party were conscious of the seriousness of the occasion, and stood quietly as Mass was celebrated and God beseeched to turn His merciful eyes upon the good bishop. Afterwards, they drifted out into the cathedral grounds and, with Baldwin mounted on his pony, went to purchase cups of hot spiced wine from one of the stalls on the far side of the grounds. Alongside the wine stall was a vendor selling roasted chestnuts, his wares smoking tantalisingly on a grid above a brazier of charcoal. Renault bought enough for them all to have some. Washed down with the wine, they brought a warm glow to the innards.
Once the refreshments had been almost devoured, Osbert suggested that he take Baldwin and show him some stone carvings of the Nativity that Bishop Hugh had commissioned to be inserted on the facade of the north wall of the cathedral. Baldwin was eager to see them and they set off, Osbert leading the pony. Alinor, who had been watching Renault covertly, had seen the glances that he had been giving Alys when he thought no one was looking, and asked the squire if he would accompany her in following Baldwin at a discreet distance.
“Just in case he should feel ill,” she said. “I know my brother does not like to be cosseted, but it would be best if he were not left alone for long. If he should weaken, or be struck with an attack of breathlessness, Osbert is not big enough to bear him up alone. It can be quite frightening.”
Renault, giving her an assessing glance but nodding his acquiescence, fell into step behind her, leaving Alys with Hugo to share the last of the chestnuts.
Alinor walked slowly, allowing the Poitevan squire to catch up with her. Around them people passed, women with babes in their arms hurrying home after attending the service, merchants intent on getting back to their trade and a few clerics on errands for the church. Alinor let the crowd flow around her, keeping well behind her brother and Osbert, who had stopped beside a portion of the cathedral wall and were examining the frieze. Finally, when Renault’s casual footsteps drew him beside her, she looked at him sidelong and spoke.
“You are smitten with Alys, are you not, Renault?”
“She is betrothed to your brother, lady,” the squire said shortly.
“That is not an answer to my question.” Alinor turned to face him. “I have seen you look at her. Even though she is not aware of your fondness for her, it is plain for others to see-if one takes the trouble to look.”
“And why are you interested, lady? I am no threat to your brother’s affections. Alys is chaste, and would not betray her vow to be true to him.”
“I know that, Renault. It is not my brother I am concerned about.”
Richard de Humez’s daughter was not one to dissemble. She, like her aunt, had a forthright nature but, unlike Nicolaa, had not yet learned the wisdom of keeping a still tongue.
Alinor placed her hand firmly on Renault’s arm, forcing him to a standstill. “I have heard that you and Alain were nearby when an arrow was shot at the Templar. Did neither of you see who aimed it?”
Renault shook his head, not meeting her gaze and, for a moment, the nonchalant pose he always adopted stiffened. “There was much confusion; it would have been impossible to tell who loosed the shaft.”
“But you were questioned about it, were you not?” Alinor persisted.
“Yes, both Alain and I were.” He relaxed a little and said mockingly, “Is it your intention to interrogate me as well?”
Alinor dropped her hand and shook her head. “No, it is not, Renault.” She took a few steps, then stopped and turned towards him. “Did you know that my father was also subjected to an enquiry?”
Renault stared at her, both of them unmindful of people passing, or of the fact that Baldwin and Osbert had moved farther along the cathedral wall. The Poitevin’s languid manner was completely gone. “I did not. Surely he is not suspected of such a cowardly act?”
Alinor shrugged. Her face was smooth, her cheeks rosy from the cold. Tendrils of hair had escaped from under the confines of the fur-lined hood she wore and fluttered as she moved. Her expression was one of determination. “I overheard my aunt speaking to him. She did not so much question him as probe gently about his feelings towards the king and whether he knew of any way that Hubert was involved with those who are rumoured to plot for King John’s overthrow. I think she and my uncle, as well as Sir William, feel that the attempt to kill de Marins must be linked to Hubert’s death, and the murderer fears the Templar may discover his identity.”
Renault shook his head slowly from side to side as he pondered what Alinor had told him. “I can assure you I am not involved in any such treachery, nor did I kill Hubert for such a reason.”
Alinor, light brown eyes still intent on his dark ones, said, “But you may have killed him for another.”
Renault’s face narrowed at her accusation but she went on regardless. “I know you detested Hubert. There had to be more than simple dislike. You and Alain both knew that he had insulted Alys, did you not?”
Renault immediately resumed his languid pose and looked away. He made no reply.
“I know you did, Renault,” Alinor insisted, almost stamping her foot with anger at his lack of response. “Alys herself told me how Hubert had accosted and threatened her and so I went and questioned young Osbert, asked him if Hubert had quarrelled with anyone just before he was found dead. Osbert told me that Alain had warned Hubert that if he didn’t leave his sister in peace he would be sorry for it. And Alain would have told you that he had done so, I am sure.”
“Osbert should keep his mouth shut,” Renault drawled.
Alinor drew herself up, anger sparking from her. “As you do, you mean? The Templar was not told of this, was he? Nor my aunt?”
Now the squire let his own temper flare. “And why should they be? Neither Alain nor I had anything to do with that bog-spawn’s murder. Hubert was warned. By both of us. To have challenged him outright would have made the matter known, and damaged Alys’s reputation beyond repair. He knew well enough not to repeat attempting to inflict his loathsome attentions on Alys. If he had…”
“…either you or Alain would have been incensed enough to kill him,” finished Alinor. As Renault’s mouth set in a grim line, she went relentlessly on, “And he was killed, wasn’t he? Secretly. Perhaps to protect Alys?”
“And your father, lady?” Renault spat at her. “If he is involved in some plot against the king and Hubert was
