Captain Godfrey, damn his eyes, was right. Aude would surely be better off without him. She must apply for an annulment.
Another of those distant clangs brought his eyes to the cell door.
Footsteps, two set of foot steps, by the sound of it.
Hugh waited.
The bolt scraped, the door creaked and a guard appeared in the doorway with a jug and the end of a loaf. It was one of the soldiers who had put him in an arm-lock in the scriptorium.
‘Your rations,’ the man said, lobbing the bread across. ‘Captain Godfrey said to tell you he will be along later.’
Hugh stood to take the jug. ‘I shall look forward to that.’ The sour smell of spoiled ale wrinkled his nose. ‘Guard?’
Insolent eyes met his.
‘I would like to send a message to Lady Aude at Alfold. Would you see that it is delivered?’
The man’s gaze found Hugh’s purse. ‘Maybe.’
Hugh opened the flap and sighed. Naturally, it had been emptied, save for one silver penny. He dug it out. ‘I can only give you this.’ He pressed it into the man’s hand. ‘But the lady will reward the messenger.’
The guard eyed the penny. ‘And your message?’
‘Please tell Lady Aude that her husband commands her to follow the advice Captain Godfrey gave her in New Minster.’
‘Eh?’
It wasn’t easy forcing the words out. ‘I wish our marriage to be annulled. Your Captain suggested as much, if you recall.’
The soldier grunted.
Heart heavy in his breast, Hugh pressed on. God knew the last thing he wanted was that his marriage to Aude should be annulled, but with matters as they stood he had no future to offer her.
Aude deserved better.
‘Tell Lady Aude she is to apply for an annulment. Her brother will assist her.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ With a curl of his lip and a ridiculous parody of a bow, the guard backed out.
The door groaned shut and Hugh returned to the bench.
With Aude’s future a little more secure, he had some serious planning to do.
The sun was past its zenith by the time Aude and her escort arrived back at Alfold. The fields between the hall and Crabbe Wood were bathed in a golden haze that on any other day Aude might have called peaceful.
Hurry, hurry, we must hurry.
The last of the corn had been cut during the morning, it was spread out on sacking to dry out properly. A child was standing guard over it, flapping a rag in a desultory manner to keep the birds off the grain. The birds hadn’t gone far, pigeons and hens were picking over the aftermath in the strips. A few of the villagers—the worst part of their work being done—were dozing in the shade of an apple tree. Swallows swooped over the quiet fields. Hurry, hurry.
At the hall, the ladder was up. A man was astride the roof ridge, cutting away the old thatch. His knife flashed, his face dripped with sweat. Oswy was clinging to the top of the ladder, watching the man with a rapt expression on his face. Someone must have brought in a thatcher from a neighbouring village.
Hurry.
Carpenters were heaving the hall door back on to its hinges, pale new wood revealing the places where the rotten planking had been cut away and replaced. Up at the watch-point on top of the rise, a helmet gleamed.
Oswy glanced across and waved at the approaching horses. His face was bright with hap pi ness as he jiggled about on the top rungs. ‘Lady Aude! Lady Aude!’
‘Mind you are careful, Oswy,’ Aude said. Even though her mind was all over the place, it was a relief to see Oswy’s mother sewing on the nearby bench. ‘I will!’
Eadgytha bounced up from the bench, her face wreathed in smiles. ‘I am watching him, my lady. And—oh, my lady—’ Eadgytha gestured at the man tearing the grey thatch from the roof ‘—this is Chad. My husband is back!’
‘Back?’ Aude’s saddle creaked as she blinked bemusedly at the man on the roof. She had under stood that Chad was dead, killed when King William defeated the Saxons at Hastings.
Chad caught her eye and wiped his brow on his sleeve. ‘My lady.’
Questions were forming on Aude’s tongue. Where had Eadgytha’s husband been? Why had he chosen this moment to return? But Aude had no time to find answers, not this afternoon.
Hugh! Until she found Hugh’s proof and he was exonerated, she could think of little else. Later, she would have more time to learn about Chad.
She sent Alfold’s thatcher a distracted smile. ‘Welcome back, Chad, you have been sorely missed.’
‘My lady, I came as soon as I could. It is good to find Alfold in capable hands. I want you to know that my loyalty—’
‘My lady!’ Cedric appeared in the doorway, towing a young girl behind him. His usually dour face was transformed by a happy grin as he nudged the girl at Aude. ‘This is my cousin, Goda.’
Goda? Wasn’t this the girl who had disappeared with the thieves? Taken by force, or so Aude had been led to believe. More questions lined up in Aude’s mind, but there was no time to learn more. Aude accepted Goda’s curtsy with a smile that she hoped no one would see was forced.
Exchanging glances with Edouard, Aude set her jaw and turned her horse towards Crabbe Wood. She kicked him back into a walk. She was glad for Eadgytha and Cedric, but there would no peace for her until she had found Hugh’s proof and had put it in the King’s hands.
‘Hang on, Aude.’ Catching her reins, Edouard hauled her horse to a stand still.
On the ride back to Alfold, Aude had told her brother about the Roman villa that Hugh had been using as a camp. She had explained about the mosaic floor that sounded hollow when you walked on it, and had discussed the nature of hypocausts with him. Edouard had agreed that in theory it was possible that some thing might be concealed in the old workings.
‘Aude, you don’t know for certain that Hugh hid this document in the hypocaust.’
‘Edouard, I am sure that he did. Hugh returned to that villa before he came back to Alfold that night that he…that I…’
‘The night you were married.’
‘Yes. There is a hypocaust under that floor, and that is where he will have put it.’
‘I cannot allow you to ride off on your own. We need to plan—’
‘Edouard, you heard Sir Guy, we have no time!’ Aude lowered her voice so that only he would hear. ‘The King arrives at Winchester today, we must find that proof at once.’
‘And so we will. But when did you last eat?’
‘Eat? Eat?’
‘You won’t be much use to anyone if you start fainting from hunger.’ Ruthlessly, Edouard guided her horse to where Raoul awaited them in front of the hall. ‘Besides, you can’t simply ride off on your own.’ She wrenched on the reins, but Edouard smiled and shook his head. ‘Don’t you think we should speak with Gil before we set out for the villa?’
It seemed like an age before they were riding into Crabbe Wood, but in reality the sun had hardly moved during the time they paused at Alfold. They delayed just long enough for Edouard to snatch a meal, and for him to force bread and smoked ham into Aude.
‘Gil, are you fit enough to come with us?’ Edouard asked, swallowing down a mouthful of ale.
‘Try stopping me,’ Gil said, turning his back on the mutters of protest from Louise and Edwige.
And so, not half an hour later, Aude, her brother and Gil had arrived at the sun-dappled cross roads in the woods. Aude led the way towards the creeper-clad ruins. Thrusting the ivy aside, they entered the room with the mosaic floor.
‘Someone’s been here, and I don’t mean Hugh,’ Gil said. ‘The blankets have gone and another fire has been lit. And that smell—’ He pulled a face. ‘This place has been used as a privy.’
He was right, Aude realised, assailed herself by a distinctive reek that had not been there before. And a number of bones had been chucked into a corner.
‘Several pigeons have been cooked and eaten here as well,’ Aude murmured. ‘Those bones, Gil, do you t
hink Hugh…?’
Gil shook his head and Aude’s stomach plum meted as she recalled Hugh telling her he had bought food from a farmer on the day he last came here. He had made no mention of pigeon…
‘The hypocaust, Gil, do you know how to get in? Otherwise, we shall simply have to search through the under growth outside.’
‘I am not certain, but I think it is this way, my lady.’ Leading her back into the fresh air, Gil picked up a stick and began thrashing his way through a patch of nettles. ‘Lord, no!’
‘What?’
‘This must be the spot, see how these weeds have been trampled.’
The nettles Gil was pointing at were bent every which way, their stems were broken and crushed. His shoulders sagged. ‘Someone has beaten us to it.’
‘Several people by the look of it,’ Aude murmured.
‘Yes, my lady.’
The rubble and earth behind the foliage had also been disturbed. Gil dropped to his knees. As he started heaving stones aside, Aude joined him. She was conscious of Edouard standing watch fully behind them, of the rustle of the wind in the leaves, but most of all she was conscious of her heart banging in her ears.
Someone had been here before them.
With a grimace—Gil’s leg must have been paining him—Gil succeeding in revealing a dark hole, no larger than the entrance to a badger’s set. The chalky earth was criss-crossed with thin roots and peppered with chunks of clay and broken masonry.
When he made to reach inside, Aude gently pushed him aside. Her hand, she noticed, was trembling. ‘Be careful, Gil, you mustn’t damage that leg. Let me.’
Gil moved aside. Aude lay on the bumpy ground and reached in. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I can feel nothing but soil and pebbles and…wait!’ Her fingers slid over some thing that felt smooth and flat, like leather. Grasping the edge, she withdrew it. A saddle bag! ‘Hugh’s?’
‘Yes, that’s Hugh’s.’
Aude sat back on her haunches, undid the buckles and flung back the flap.
Nothing. She groaned.
‘Empty?’ Edouard asked.
Aude held the bag up for his inspection. ‘Yes, quite empty. I’ll look again.’
Throwing herself flat, she shoved her whole arm into the space, up to her shoulder. Earth, more stones, a thick root.
‘Nothing?’
‘No. Heaven help us. Edouard, you try, your arm is longer than mine.’
Edouard took her place on the flattened weeds. A shard of clay flew over his shoulder. Aude bit her lip. Another shard flew past. At length Edouard sat up. ‘Nothing.’ He shook his head. ‘If Hugh did hide something in here, it is not there now.’
‘Someone has stolen it.’
Brushing earth from his chausses, Edouard sighed. ‘Could be. But you can’t be certain he put it in here.’
‘He did, I know he did! Where else might he have put it?’
Gil was leaning on the stick, easing his leg. ‘I think Lady Aude is right. Hugh told me what he would do in the event of him finding his proof. This is where he would have put it.’
Aude stared at Gil, sick with dread. ‘Hugh definitely said he had a document that would cast fresh light on the Bishop of St Aubin’s testimony. If it is not here, where on earth can it be?’
There was no means of measuring the passing of time in the garrison lock-up, the light was unchanging and weak, which probably meant that Hugh’s cell faced north. He was sitting on the bench running through various escape plans in his mind when his stomach growled. Would he be fed again? He was so hungry that even another lump of stale bread would be welcome.
It was ominously quiet. After what the guard had told him, Hugh had been braced for an un pleas ant inter view with Captain Godfrey, but since the guards had left the cells, he had heard nothing. Nothing, save the occasional moan from a prisoner further down the corridor, and the murmuring of prayer from the man in the cell opposite. Deposed Archbishop or not, that man was definitely in Holy Orders. And some where he would swear he heard running water. This place had to be close to the river or one of its tributaries.
Distant voices. A clang, and the distinctive sound of a large key grating in a lock. The guards were returning. At last!
Heartbeat quickening, Hugh stood. He stretched and flexed his fingers; his instincts were telling him that if he was going to make a bid for an escape, it was now or never.
Positioning himself by the door, he peered down the corridor. The light had strengthened, so the main door to the prison must be open. Hugh could not envision what lay beyond that door, when they had brought him through it, he had been sense less. From the muffled mutter of voices he would lay odds it was a guard house. It certainly made sense to position the cells close to the soldiers. And if that was so, any escape in that direction would be fraught with danger.
A guard—one only—came into view. He was wearing a short mail coat that reached his knees, but no helmet. The man must be relying on his com pan ions in the guard house for back-up. Hugh’s pulse speeded up.
He waited while the guard entered the cell next to his, rolling his shoulders.
He kept his breath steady while the guard locked that door and went to the opposite cell with food on a wooden platter. Hugh watched him drop the platter to the ground, unlock the door and boot it through.
Hugh flexed his hands while the guard secured the door. The whole business with the food had taken seconds. One guard only. One. And while the man was being cautious, he was not being cautious enough.
When the key scraped in his own door, Hugh stepped lightly back. The door swung open. As soon as the platter appeared, Hugh lunged.
His fingers closed round the guard’s calf, he caught hold of the man’s cross-gartering.
A memory shot through his mind—of Aude hooking on to his leg in much the same way when he had pulled her from the Seine. Had she received his message yet? How would she react?
Focus, Hugh, stay focused.
Hugh hauled. When the guard opened his mouth, Hugh dived. There was no room for finesse, Hugh simply flattened him. His elbow cracked against the stone doorway, he pressed his hand over the guard’s mouth.
Grunting, he dragged the guard kicking and thrashing out of the corridor. After a des per ate scrabble, Hugh was kneeling over him. He had him by the hair, wriggling and writhing like an eel in a trap. Chain mail ground into Hugh’s thighs.
One care fully judged blow to the man’s head and the thrashing stopped. Breathing hard, Hugh wrenched off the man’s belt and took the keys. He wouldn’t have long. A gag, he needed a gag. He ripped off a piece of blanket and stuffed it into the guard’s mouth. The belt bound it in place.
A minute more and Hugh had taken the guard’s place in the corridor. As he locked the door to his cell, the coat of chain mail weighed heavy on his shoulders. Pity about the lack of helmet. Glancing towards the guardhouse, he briefly weighed up his chances of shutting and locking the door before he was noticed. They weren’t good.
He glanced the other way and found himself staring at a wall. This corridor ran nowhere.
Merde. It was the guard house, or nothing.
Unless…. Hugh frowned at the rusted iron ring set into the stone floor. Moving quietly towards it, he lifted the ring, braced himself and heaved.
The flag stone shifted, the sound of running water intensified. One final heave and the stone grated aside.
It was black as pitch down there. Brushing bright rust from his hands, Hugh dropped to the floor. The dank earthy smell intensified. Water! Shiny black water was racing along a few feet below his nose.
An under ground stream ran directly below the prison! The guards probably used it for sluicing out the cells.
Frowning, Hugh leaned further in. How deep was it?
More importantly, where did it come out? If it came out at all.
A roar of laughter rolled down the corridor. Hugh glanced at his cell door, it wouldn’t be long before someone came to look for that guard…
&nbs
p; He hung over the edge.
How deep? He had no way of telling.
What if there was no way out? It had been a dry summer in England as well as in Normandy, but Hugh had a clear recollection of rain pattering onto the thatch at Alfold. The water levels could rise as that rain filtered down from the outlying hills.
He leaned in as far as he could without over balancing. Downstream, a faint glimmer caught his eye. Blink and he’d have missed it. But he’d seen enough. Any light down there could only mean one thing—a way out. And it was not far off either, just a little way—a very little way, he prayed—down stream.
Pity about the mail shirt, Hugh thought, grunting as he wrestled his way out of it. Unlocking the cell door—the guard remained un conscious—Hugh hurled the mail shirt on to the bench, closed the door and re-locked it.
At the trapdoor he didn’t hesitate.
God help me. He lowered himself in, and let go.
Ice. The water was so cold it snatched his breath. Mon Dieu!
He went down like a stone. His feet hit bottom, his skull cracked against some thing hard. A wall? A natural under ground tunnel? It was impossible to see.
He came up spluttering, sucking in air. His shoulder scraped the side of the waterway, he cracked his skull a second time. The flow felt swifter than it had looked. Water was in his ears, it was in his nose. A jet-black darkness was closing in on him. Struggling to keep afloat, Hugh caught a last glimpse of the prison trapdoor, a shrinking oblong of light above him.
And then the light was gone.
The river carried him along. He fought to turn in the direction of the current, des per ate to stay on the surface.
Light. A faint pinprick ahead. His heart was thumping; his ears ached with cold; his hands were going numb. Flailing out, he struck the side of the tunnel and barely felt it. A swirl of water took him briefly under. And then he was back on the surface, lungs aching, dragging in breath.
The light was a little stronger. He could see a glow, a striped glow. Striped?
His foot scraped the bottom, he jarred his knee. A creature slid past him. Otter. Its dark head appeared in front of him and dipped out of sight.
Wessex Weddings 05 - Her Banished Lord Page 21
