Free The Poisoned Serpent by Joan Wolf

school. For some reason, I think he has always seen himself as being in competition with me. He was the sheriff’s son then, and he thought he should be better in everything than everyone else. He did not like it when anyone bested him.”
    Alan slid Richard’s shirt off his shoulders and looked with pride at the half-naked body of his lord. No one was as splendid as Richard, he thought. Why, Hugh was not much taller than Alan himself. Next to Richard, Hugh looked small.
    He nodded wisely. “I see.”
    “The annoying thing is that I like Hugh,” Richard said. “I have always wanted to be friends with him. But he holds me at a distance. He always has.”
    Alan folded Richard’s shirt and put it down on achest. He picked up a fur-lined bedrobe and said, “He is jealous of you, my lord.”
    “He has no cause to be,” Richard said. “Hugh is extraordinarily competent at everything he does. And he is an earl’s son! He certainly has no reason to envy me.”
    “Anyone would envy you, my lord,” Alan said with absolute conviction.
    Richard laughed. “Yours is hardly an objective opinion, Alan.”
    The squire held up the bedrobe for Richard to slip his arms into. “He asked me a lot of questions about that night in the Minster,” he said with a troubled frown.
    Richard nodded serenely. “He asked me if he might talk to you and I said that he could.”
    Alan’s brow cleared. As the evening had progressed, he had begun to wonder if he should have talked to Hugh at all. Although, to be truthful, there was something about the earl’s son that made it difficult for Alan to picture refusing him.
    “He told me,” said the young squire, “that he doesn’t believe Bernard is guilty, my lord. He said that he is going to look for the real murderer.”
    Richard tied the sash of his deep blue robe. “I hope he does find someone else. I would hate to see Bernard hang.”
    Alan picked up Richard’s boots to take them to the kitchen to clean. “Do you believe Bernard did it, my lord?”
    Richard’s face was sober. “I don’t want to believe it but, unfortunately, I haven’t been able to think of anyone else to put in his place.”
    Alan clutched the boots. “I think he did it, my lord.He was kneeling right over the earl. And he was holding the knife!”
    Richard sighed. “I know, Alan. I know.”
    He looked tired, and Alan thought with sudden contrition that he was keeping Richard up with his chatter. “Is there aught else I can do for you, my lord?”
    “No, thank you, Alan. I will wish you good night.”
    “Good night, my lord,” Alan replied, bowed, and withdrew to go and clean Richard’s boots before seeking his own bed in the attic.
     
    There was frost on the ground the following morning. The warm spell had snapped during the night, and the ground was once more frozen and hard.
    Hugh broke his fast in the room where he had eaten supper the previous night. Once again, the only others at table were Gervase and Richard. As had been the case in Ralf’s town house, the rest of the household took their meals in the kitchen.
    Gervase’s house was much larger than Ralf’s town house had been, however. The number of rooms was the same, but the Canville rooms were more than twice the size of those in the house where Hugh had grown up.
    In truth, Hugh was a little surprised to see how very well Gervase seemed to live. He had always thought that the Canvilles inhabited the same social and economic level as the Corbailles. Like Ralf, Gervase owned several manors within the shire, which had been given to his father by the old king, Henry I. And like Ralf, Gervase swore his feudal oath directly to the king himself.
    When Ralf had died, leaving only one foster son who was just twenty, Gervase had been the most likely candidate to become the new sheriff.
    Hugh had always assumed that Ralf and Gervase were as similar in terms of wealth as they were in everything else. But Ralf could never have afforded this