More murmurs followed William’s challenge, but no one spoke aloud, and Eleanor took a breath. She could not allow this to pass unremarked. “Lord William, you do speak unkindly of a dead man. Poor, loyal Osbert met his fate in my service—and in yours, sire,” she added. “He was not in a conspiracy for the poaching. I could trust Osbert.”
Trust! Hugh wanted to scoff aloud. Eleanor could not let go of that trusting, little fool that she was. The wide world was far more cruel than she knew.
“Now what Osbert knew of the poachers will never see the light of day,” William said. “He cannot be arrested nor ever speak. More the pity, that.” Eleanor looked sharply at William. Pity was such an odd word for him to use.
“Is there no one—not a soul here—who knows anything about what has happened?” William barked out. “Surely there must be some wight who can speak—who should speak—or know that eternal damnation shall follow him all the days of his life!”
“I—I have some knowledge,” a young lad spoke up, finally breaking the long, tense silence that followed William’s question. Eleanor turned to see a young man of about fifteen, dressed in simple peasant garb, face twisted with fear, thrust forward from the crowd by some men he had been standing with.
“Speak!” William commanded. “And who are you?”
“Yes, speak,” Hugh echoed. Eleanor wanted to roll her eyes. This was William’s assize, not Hugh’s, and yet he had to give commands as well. Such an arrogant man!
The young man wrung his cap in his hands. “I am Roger of Strathcombe—I heard Osbert—at least, I think ‘twas Osbert—he wore the selfsame hunter’s cap—talking in the forest with some men, when I was pasturing my pigs—they were eating acorns—but I do have a license for them to do so.”
“Go on,” William thundered. Eleanor looked at the young man, who seemed even more nervous with every passing moment.
“Osbert, at least it seemed to be he, was saying that he was trying to keep the names of the poachers secret, until all could be revealed,” the young man finished. He looked about him, as if he feared someone would slit his throat for what he had just said.
“So!” Hugh expostulated. He slammed his fist into his open hand. “Did Osbert say what exactly would be revealed? Nothing more about the names of the poachers?”
The young man hung his head. “Nay, I could not hear ‘t.”
“If you could not hear all, then the little you did hear means nothing,” Hugh snapped.
“I shall be the judge of that,” William retorted. He drew himself up, but, Eleanor noted, his realigned posture did nothing to conceal his potbelly. “’Tis my assize, Lord Hugh. You hold yours at Wykeham.”
Eleanor turned to look at Hugh, and, as she had guessed, his face was as a thundercloud. His jaw clenched, but he merely raised an eyebrow. “You speak true, Lord William,” he drawled sarcastically, with a wave of his hand toward the knot of foresters and Osbert. “You are the one who will, in his great wisdom, judge according to the Law of the Forest and uphold the will of our king, King Edward. How could we think otherwise?”
A ripple of muffled laughter ran through the crowd and people exchanged knowing grins. Eleanor hid a smile. It was easy to see from their reaction to Hugh’s comment that the people of Litchfield were not necessarily impressed by their liege lord, William—no more than she was. But they were in fear of him, to be sure, as no one else volunteered to speak out about the poachings.
William blinked and looked a bit puzzled, as if he were wondering what had just happened and was casting about for the right response, Eleanor thought. “Harrumph!” he said, clearing his throat. “Of course.” He motioned abruptly to Osbert’s body lying before him. “Get this offal out of here.”
Agnes gasped and began crying again, and the sounds of her sobs were followed by more soothing clucks from Eleanor’s ladies. William was such a churl! She had to say something!
“Lord William!” Eleanor exclaimed. “I beg of you, do not refer to my faithful chief forester as such. He may be dead, but he was a loyal servant.” She looked at him levelly, and he gave her a surly look. He almost pouted! Eleanor realized.
By his hopes of heaven! Hugh exclaimed to himself. Eleanor challenged her liege lord with no thought for herself—only of her chief forester. That was true loyalty. But—did not that mean there was something between her and Osbert, he wondered again. Had those lips he had just kissed also kissed Osbert’s? Pah! Hugh spit again on the dirt of the bailey floor.
“Now,” William said, raising a hand to still the crowd as a hubbub began, following the foresters and Osbert out of the bailey. “Now, Hugh, do you have someone else to arrest and question?”
Hugh shook his head. “Nay, William. Not at this time. Perhaps when we convene again, after the meal, I will. I must speak with some of my men first.”
William looked annoyed, Eleanor thought. Perhaps he sensed he was losing control of his own assize—and to Hugh, into the bargain. He must find it aggravating, indeed! She hid a smile.
“Lady Eleanor?” William asked, his tone changing to one of unctuousness. “Do you not wish to question John de Bretton, Lord Hugh’s chief forester, about the poaching?”
Eleanor’s mouth felt dry. “Aye, so I do,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. Resolute, she commanded herself, she must be resolute.
“I have nothing to hide,” John de Bretton said, stepping forward, his reddish hair stringy under his huntsman’s cap. “You know it well, too.” Arms akimbo, he jutted his chin in the air, almost as if daring Eleanor to challenge him.
“We shall see,” Eleanor said, advancing toward him. “Don’t you
