“I think something is afoot to do with Hubert’s murder,” she said to them conspiratorially. “I heard my aunt say that she would be going to my uncle’s hunting lodge later today and that she intended to take Ernulf and some men-at-arms with her.”
The two squires looked at her in bafflement. “Why should you believe that any such excursion would be concerned with who killed Hubert?” Renault asked.
“It is only a feeling I have,” Alinor admitted, “perhaps because earlier the Templar went to speak to my aunt privately. He was in her chamber for a long time and when he came out she sent a servant to fetch my father and Uncle William.”
“I still don’t see why you think these conversations, or Lady Nicolaa going into the forest with a guard, should have anything to do with who killed Hubert,” Renault objected.
“It was something my father said when he came from seeing my aunt,” Alinor confessed.
“And what was that?” Alain asked.
“That he hoped I had learned the folly of meddling in affairs of which I knew nothing,” Alinor replied, a frown creasing her brows. “He said the next time I was tempted to eavesdrop on a conversation, I would be well-advised to stop up my ears with my fingers. He was very angry.”
As she was saying this, Osbert appeared, carrying his lute. “Your brother is sleeping soundly, Alinor,” he said. “Alys will stay with him until he wakes.”
Alinor nodded absently and Osbert asked what was troubling her. When Alain, in a scoffing manner, told him what she had said, Osbert shook his head.
“She may not be wrong,” the page remarked gravely. “I, too, saw the Templar go into Lady Nicolaa’s chamber. He looked even more determined than usual. Perhaps he has found some new trace of who killed Hubert.”
Hugo had been listening to the conversation with growing agitation. “Oh, Alain,” he burst out, “it wasn’t you who murdered him, was it?”
Alain looked at his cousin in surprise, then reached out a hand and ruffled the boy’s close-cropped hair. “Of course not, you donkey. I told you, I did not find Hubert that night. And even if I had, I had no intention of killing him. I was only going to give him a good thrashing.”
Alinor looked round at them all. “This murder has set us all one against another with suspicion and distrust. It seems as though Hubert, even after death, still possesses the ability to cause us as much distress as he did when alive. How amused he would be if he could see us now.”
In the village at the edge of the Sheriff’s Chase, the inhabitants were all gathered in the church. Alwin, the reeve, and his son, Leofric, stood at the head of them, listening intently as Father Samson finished serving Mass and turned to speak to them. The feeling of grief was strong. Edward had been foolish, but he was one of their own. At the back of the tiny church, the women stood sniffling with tears, all except Bettina. Her face was unnaturally white and her hands were clenched in front of her. She mourned her cousin’s death, but was frightened of what was to come.
“You must all do exactly as Sir Bascot has instructed,” Samson was saying. “If you do, he has promised to speak to the sheriff on your behalf. If you do not, neither he nor I can help you.” The old priest’s face was sad. He had failed his parishioners. If they had only trusted him enough to come and tell him what was happening, Edward and the murdered squire might still be alive. He raised his hand in a benediction. “Those of you who are involved in the Templar’s plan must go now. The rest of us will stay here and pray for you.”
Bettina, Edwin and Leofric left the hall and, as they did so, a collective sigh rose from the rest of the villagers, bolstered by a great sob from Edwin’s wife. Then they all bent their heads in prayer as Father Samson began to intone a Pater Noster.
Twenty-eight
Melisande arrived at the hunting lodge just past the midday hour. Copley met her on the track that approached the building with three of the bowmen that worked under him, and was standing respectfully beside his horse as his mistress approached.
Copley looked nervous. He had fortified himself with a small measure of wine when he had received Melisande’s message, but had dared take no more for fear of a reprimand from his cousin. “Good morrow, mistress,” he greeted Melisande obsequiously. “I believe Lady Nicolaa is already within the lodge. There are horses outside.”
Melisande dismounted impatiently. “I have eyes to see, Copley,” she said brusquely. “Let us go in and find out what it is that Lady Nicolaa wants of me. If King John is to have a hunt on Camville land, I cannot see how I am involved, but if my assistance is needed I would prefer to deal with it quickly. I have much to do before the king arrives.”
Inside the lodge, Nicolaa sat on the chair used by her husband when he stayed at the lodge. It was of oak, with broad comfortable arms and a padded seat. Beside her, her son, Richard, who had been standing at the entrance to the lodge, was now sprawled on a bench and, at her back, stood Ernulf and two of his men-at-arms. In a corner of the large chamber, Tostig, Eadric and a couple of the Camville huntsmen waited and watched as a pair of servants from the castle set wine and cups on a table. In the hearth a fire blazed. As Nicolaa waited for the goldsmith’s widow she ran an examining eye over the preparations made for the king in case he should decide to indulge in a foray after deer or boar during his stay in Lincoln.
The lodge was a capacious structure, built of timber, with a cavernous fireplace on one side and an ample scattering of rugs made from wolf hides on the floor. In one corner was a space concealed by a curtain that was fitted with a comfortable mattress and blankets. Although this was for Gerard’s convenience, it had been freshly made with washed linen and a newly covered bolster, in expectant readiness for the king.
Other preparations had also been made. Bottles of wine lay in caskets filled with straw alongside an assortment of cheeses, including the soft white one that John preferred. There were piles of linen napkins and small sealed earthenware jars of fruit preserves and pots of honey. Nicolaa was well aware of her monarch’s penchant for sweetmeats.
On the walls hung coils of rope, snaring nets and leather cases filled with arrows. Wooden chests filled with leather harnesses, fletching knives and candles were set against the walls and near the bed-space straw sleeping pallets for the king’s servants were neatly piled.
The noise of arriving horses distracted Nicolaa from her mental inventory and she looked towards the door as the goldsmith’s widow entered.
“Greetings, Mistress Fleming,” she said in an even tone. “It is a cold day outside. Shed your cloak and have a cup of wine to warm you.”
Melisande nodded her acceptance and came forward to sit on a settle placed near the fire, handing her cloak to the servant who proffered her the wine, looking about her as she did so.
“You come well escorted today, lady, for just a parlay about planning the king’s hunt,” she said to Nicolaa.
“My son thought it wise, with so many recent trespasses by outlaws into our chase, to have me protected by my serjeant and his men as well as his own sword.”
Melisande looked at Richard. He was regarding her with what seemed like amusement, the red Haye hair glinting in the light from the fire as he lifted his wine cup to his lips and drank. “Did you have no fear for your own safety, Mistress Fleming, to come with only a groom into the forest?” he asked languidly.
Melisande flicked a glance at her agister. Copley was nervous, licking his lips and staring longingly at the wine cups laid out on the table. “I knew my agister would meet me along the way,” Melisande replied. “And I was in a hurry.”
She felt as though the sheriff’s son was baiting her and decided to try to take control of the conversation. “Although I do not understand the reason for this meeting, lady,” she said, addressing Nicolaa. “If a hunt is planned for the king in your husband’s chase, there is not likely to be much infringement into the part of the woodland that my deputy patrols.”
