‘The garrison lock-up. And my advice to you, my lady, is to apply for an annulment as quickly as you may. The penalties for those who harbour banished men are severe.’ His smile chilled Aude to her core. ‘So…go home, my lady. Pick up your embroidery. If you behave, I am sure your application for an annulment will be favourably received. No one will hold it against you that a felon forced you into marriage.’
Conscious that her brother’s arm was holding her in check as much as it was supporting her, Aude made it as far as the doorway and stared after Hugh. With a cynical salute, the captain led his men out under the arch.
Flanked by Edouard and Sir Olivier, Aude stood frozen until the foot steps faded. Doves were cooing on the roof of the scriptorium, and for the space of a heartbeat the sound trans ported her back to Beaumont Castle on one of the days that Hugh had visited her there. Her eyes filled.
‘Edouard, I mislike Captain Godfrey,’ she said, blinking hard. ‘I get the distinct impression that his methods of questioning may be…unscrupulous.’
Edouard hesitated. And that, Aude realised, was answer enough. ‘You think as I do. You think he might torture Hugh!’
‘Not necessarily.’ A thoughtful crease formed between Edouard’s eyebrows. ‘He would have to answer to his commander.’
‘The garrison commander, yes, of course! That is what we must do!’
Edouard eyed her warily. ‘What?’
‘We must go and pay our respects to Sir Guy!’
‘Sir Guy?’
‘Sir Guy de Mortain, he commands the Winchester garrison. Edouard, have you met him?’
‘No, but—’
‘We must to go to the castle, you ought to make yourself known.’
Edouard’s expression lightened. ‘Aude, that is a good thought.’ He crooked his arm at her. ‘Come along.’
A cross was carved into the stone archway that led out of the court yard. As they passed under it, Sir Olivier at their heels, Aude found herself praying that Sir Guy would take their part. Otherwise she had grave doubts that Hugh would survive to meet with the King, never mind exchange the kiss of peace with him.
For Aude, the beginning of the ride from New Minster to Winchester Castle passed in a panicky blur. She was thankful for the company of Edouard and Sir Olivier.
Once Edouard had retrieved his sword—along with Hugh’s—from the Abbey porter, they were soon trotting past the old Saxon Minster. Aude was so intent on finding Sir Guy that she almost mowed down a pilgrim who ran out under her horse’s hoofs.
‘Watch where you’re going!’ The man scowled at her from under his hood, his staff thumped the ground.
Swiftly, she reined in. ‘My apologies, sir.’
The pilgrim gave her a brusque nod and joined the line of people snaking through the Minster door. They would be heading for St Swithun’s shrine—Aude had been told it worked miracles.
‘Perhaps we should visit the shrine,’ she murmured, the en counter with the pilgrim temporarily breaking her focus.
Edouard looked blankly at her. ‘What’s that?’
‘Miracles are to be had there and we certainly need one.’
‘I would rather put my faith in Sir Guy.’
‘And in Hugh’s proof.’
‘Yes.’
They left the Minster precincts and rode past the garrison hall. Sir Guy had quarters in the garrison, but Aude knew that his main residence was in the castle at the top of the hill.
Market Street sloped gently upwards. It was apparent that Alfold was not the only village to have brought in a fine harvest. Winchester at harvest time was, it seemed, busier than Rouen. Wheels rumbled on every side. The narrow street was lined with stalls, while the main thorough fare was a-jostle with carts bulging with grain sacks, with donkeys labouring beneath over-laden panniers…
They reined in for a couple of boys sweating under the weight of sacks twice their size; they held their horses in check for several hand carts laden with fresh loaves and fragrant meat pies. At the market cross, a girl with hens in a wicker work cage crossed their path.
Impatience was rising with every delay. After the famine of the previous year, Aude was glad that this year’s harvest had been a success, but the image of Hugh being dragged over the scriptorium thresh old dominated her thoughts. What was happening to him? Where was the garrison lock-up? Was Hugh being hurt?
If Hugh were re in stated, might he learn to love her? Foolish, foolish question. Love grew out of trust, and clearly Hugh did not trust her…
Their luck turned after they had been challenged by the guards at the castle gate house and had been given permission to enter. They clattered over the draw bridge into the bailey and no sooner had Aude dismounted than a conroi of horse soldiers rode in behind them.
Sir Guy!
With a sigh of relief, she handed her reins to Sir Olivier. ‘Would you mind?’
‘My pleasure.’
‘Squire for me too, Olivier,’ Edouard said.
After that it was the work of a few moments to arrange an inter view with Sir Guy.
‘Excuse my dishevelment, my lady,’ Sir Guy said as the horses were led away and his squire had run up to take his helmet from him. He bowed over her hand. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure, I had not looked for another visit so close to your last one.’
‘Thank you. Sir Guy, I should like to introduce my brother, Edouard, Count of Corbeil. Edouard, this is Sir Guy de Mortain.’
Sir Guy inclined his head. ‘My lord.’ He waved at one of the doors leading off from the bailey. ‘I am pressed for time today, but I have worked up the devil of a thirst. Would you join me for refreshments?’
‘Thank you, but I should warn you, sir, there is a matter of some urgency we would like to bring to your attention.’
‘This way, my lady.’
They were ushered into a lofty hall. The white washed walls were hung with rich tapestries, the floor was thickly strewn with freshly cut rushes. Plumes of smoke rose from the central hearth. Beyond the fire stood a couple of trestle tables, their polished surfaces gleaming in the light angling down from narrow windows.
A serving girl appeared with wine that smelt faintly of cinnamon, another offered a tray of black berry and apple pastries that looked to be glazed with honey.
Aude took nothing, her stomach was churning too much to eat. ‘No, I thank you, but, no.’ She would eat again when Hugh was safe.
When the serving girls had moved away, Sir Guy leaned against the table and smiled at them over the rim of his cup. ‘So, how may I help you?’
Briefly, with the words tumbling over them selves, Aude explained their dilemma.
Sir Guy’s face lost its smile. ‘A moment,’ he said. ‘I must tell you that the Bishop of St Aubin has already sent word about this man. I must also tell you that your version and the Bishop’s do not fit well together. Let me see if I have your version aright. Count Hugh de Freyncourt was stripped of his title and banished on the strength of the testimony of this Bishop?’
‘Yes, but the accusations against Hugh are false, he is innocent.’
Sir Guy held up his hand for silence. ‘One point, however, does coincide. You admit that he broke the terms of his banishment?’
‘Yes.’
‘Lady Aude, did you bring Hugh Duclair with you to England?’
‘No, I did not realise he was in England until he arrived at Alfold.’
Sir Guy frowned. ‘And now you have married him?’
‘Yes.’
The garrison commander shook his head. ‘Don’t you think that was rather…unwise, my lady?’
‘Sir Guy, Hugh is innocent! His loyalty to the King is unshakeable, he would never involve himself in Flemish plots against the King. Why, Hugh and my brother accompanied the King to England at the time of the Great Battle, when King William was but Duke of Normandy.’
‘Did he so?’
‘Yes, and—’
The commander made an impatient gesture and Aude fell silent.<
br />
‘And now you say Captain Godfrey has him in custody?’
‘Yes,’ Edouard said. ‘Sir, we are concerned for Hugh’s life. It is as my sister has said, Hugh Duclair is loyal to the King. Before he was arrested, he made mention of a document that has come to light. It proves the Bishop has reasons for seeking his banishment.’
‘You have seen this document yourself, Lord Edouard?’
‘No, but if Hugh has indeed got his hands on it—and knowing him as I do, I have every reason to believe him—then not only is Hugh’s life at stake, but this also puts the loyalty of Bishop Osmund into question.’
‘What does the Bishop hope to gain by lying?’
‘Several chests of Freyncourt silver, as I under stand it. The document is proof of the deposit Hugh’s father made. A monk witnessed the Bishop signing it.’
Sir Guy’s eyes widened. ‘But with the Count of Freyncourt in disgrace and the documents missing, there is no proof the silver existed.’
‘Exactly!’ Aude gripped her hands together. ‘Please help us, Sir Guy. I cannot think the King may rely on the word of a bishop prepared to lie for gain.’
‘No, indeed.’ Sir Guy set his wine-cup down. ‘We need sight of this proof.’
‘If only Hugh had told us where he had put it,’ Aude said. She was on the point of demanding that she be allowed to have speech with Hugh when a shiver rippled through her. ‘Wait, I know where it might be!’
She grasped the commander’s arm. This was the chance to prove herself to Hugh. If she found his document and brought it to Sir Guy, Hugh must learn to trust her, he must! ‘Sir Guy, if we bring you Hugh’s proof, will you ensure that no harm comes to him while he is in Captain Godfrey’s custody?’
‘Assuredly.’
Aude searched Sir Guy’s face and knew him for an honourable man. If Sir Guy said he would ensure no harm came to Hugh, he meant it. ‘Thank you.’
‘My lady, before you leave, there is some thing you should know. And please note, both of you—’ Sir Guy’s expression was earnest ‘—what I am about to tell you is not common knowledge; word must not get abroad.’
‘Sir Guy, you may rely on our discretion,’ Edouard said.
Aude’s pulse began to race. Sir Guy’s face told her that what he was about to disclose did not bode well for Hugh. ‘What is it, sir?’
‘When you arrived at the castle just now I was re turning from patrolling the city perimeters. It is not a task I myself would normally under take, but I had good reason for doing it today. I have received word that the King will arrive here this evening.’
For a moment the floor seemed to shift under Aude’s feet. ‘King William is coming to Winchester this evening?’
Edouard frowned. ‘I thought he was on campaign in East Anglia.’
‘And so he is,’ Sir Guy said. ‘But there are matters here, urgent matters concerning—well, that is of no matter. Be that as it may, the King will be here tonight and I will have no choice but to inform him that we have caught Hugh Duclair breaking the terms of his banishment.’
‘Tonight?’ Edouard muttered. ‘Hell, that doesn’t leave much time.’
‘Exactly. Because of Hugh Duclair’s former status, he must be brought before the King. It will be King William himself who will pronounce judgement on him.’
Aude clenched her jaw. ‘The King will exonerate him when the truth is known. Hugh will accept the King’s peace.’
‘That is possible, my lady. But I am warning you that one way or another this matter is likely to be resolved tonight.’ Sir Guy heaved a sigh. ‘With the King’s arrival imminent, I am sure you will under stand that I have many matters pressing, but it strikes me that the best course might be for me to send someone to the lock-up to observe Hugh Duclair’s inter view with Captain Godfrey.’
Aude bit her lip. Sir Guy was right, she wasn’t thinking straight. Her head felt as though it was going to burst.
Tonight! The king would be here tonight!
She put her hand to her forehead. ‘But Captain Godfrey knocked Hugh’s senses from him.’
‘He is un conscious?’
‘Yes.’
‘He will come round.’
Aude’s sense of panic was rising. ‘Yes, but when? There’s no time! Besides, Hugh suspects Captain Godfrey to be in the pay of the Bishop—he will reveal nothing to him.’
‘Then my advice to you, my lady, is to find that document with all speed.’
‘Thank you, Sir Guy, we will.’
Aude gave the garrison commander a curtsy so brief it bordered on discourteous. Edouard grasped her hand and they started for the door.
‘Lady Aude…’ Sir Guy’s voice followed them the length of the hall.
‘Sir?’
‘I hope you find your proof.’
Giving him a brisk nod of acknowledgement, Aude swept out into the bailey.
Chapter Fifteen
Hugh’s sight was the first sense to return—he was in a place of shadows.
Prison cell.
Feeling flooded back—his jaw was throbbing mercilessly. He had been dumped on a mouldering pile of straw, thank fully, his arms were not bound.
An acrid stink informed him that the straw was more than simply damp. Shuddering, Hugh pushed himself to his feet and massaged his jaw. No teeth had been broken, thank God, but the throbbing continued. His mind felt muddy.
The cell was scarcely larger than a coffin. The walls gleamed with damp and the air was rank with the stink of mildew and fear. Clumps of grey straw lay haphazardly on the floor, and even as he looked, a clump shifted and some thing dark—a rat?—scuttled into a corner and vanished behind a bucket.
A narrow bench lay along one wall. Several slats were missing and at one end there was a pile of rags that might once been a blanket. A mean sliver of light came from a window slit that was partially blocked by a luxuriant growth of moss.
And the door? Oak. Banded with iron. Hinged and doubt less bolted on the outside. There was a small window in the top of the door, barred with a crude iron grille. Hugh squinted through the grille.
He could not see much. The door of a cell opposite and, yes, it had thick iron bolts on the outside and rust-stained hinges. A shadow moved in the other cell, briefly Hugh caught sight of a shaved head. It looked remarkably like a tonsure. There was a monk imprisoned in here? Lord. Could this be the deposed English Archbishop Stigand? Stigand had been accused of pluralism, he had clashed with the King. The last Hugh had heard of Stigand he had been incarcerated at Winchester—this might well be he.
Hugh craned his neck, but saw little that might be of use to him. A gloomy corridor; wet stone with a damp sheen to it, so wet this place must be located close to the river. What was the name of the river? The Itchen. The course the Itchen ran outside of the city walls, Hugh had marked it on his previous visit. Was this prison outside Winchester?
Hugh was unable to recall a likely building near the river, though his memory was quick to give him images of the river flowing past the walls. He recalled a wooden mill by a bridge; a wash-house; a straggling line of peasant’s cottages. He had seen nothing resembling a prison on either of his visits to the city.
He peered down the corridor in the other direction. There was a second cell opposite, a feeble light was coming through a grille in another door. And there, set into a flag stone in front of the cell, was a heavy iron ring. Interesting.
Try as he might, Hugh could see nothing more. The occupant of the cell exactly opposite to his, Stigand or otherwise, had re treated. All was quiet. Indeed it was so quiet that for a moment he thought he could hear the rush of the river. His skin was shrinking with cold. A dark, earthy smell filled his nostrils. The damp in here was getting to him. Granted, water was practically running down the walls. He heard a distant clang, as of a gate shutting, and pulled back from the door.
Hell, he had to get out of here, he had to get that document. He rubbed his jaw, probing the bruise. The guards would probably feed him; he m
ight not have long to wait. Crossing to the bench, he shoved the mouldering blanket aside and sat down.
Thank God, Louise and Gil were at Alfold, because if things turned out badly for him, Aude and Edouard would see they were cared for. He rubbed his forehead as a wisp of memory came slowly into focus. Just after Captain Godfrey had knocked his senses from him, he thought he had heard a mocking voice recommending that Aude should have their marriage annulled.
Truth? Wild imagining of his unconscious mind?
Hugh’s mouth twisted and he closed his eyes, leaning back against the stone wall. He hadn’t heard Aude’s response, but perhaps she should heed that advice. There were a few things Hugh regretted in his life, but one of them must be that moment of weakness back in Alfold, when he had accepted her as his wife. He hadn’t been able to resist her. What a blind, selfish fool. He had woken up in her arms, the air had been filled with that bewitching, womanly scent, and he had found himself wishing that every day could begin that way. For a moment he had believed that if you wished for something hard enough, it might be yours. He was a fool.
They didn’t love each other. When they had been surprised out of bed at Alfold, Aude had admitted as much. Edouard had muttered some thing about her harbouring tender feelings for him and she had been very swift to deny it. She had been so blunt and so definite there was no doubting that her heart was un touched.
Well, no matter—Hugh damped down a confusing feeling of hurt—he didn’t love her either.
What did he feel for Aude? Affection, certainly. Warmth and the hot ache of desire…but love?
Mon Dieu, what did this matter? He must get his proof to the King! Otherwise that moment of weakness on his part might leave poor Aude condemned to a lifetime of sharing his disgrace. King William had been betrayed many times in his life, it had left him full of suspicion; he was on occasion capricious. And without a witness to back up Hugh’s story there was no way of knowing whether the king would exonerate him. Poor Aude. Bad enough that she had to grow up in the shadow of her grandfather’s shame, she should not have to endure his too.
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