"Simeon Poer may well be his name," said Brother Adam, "or he may have half a dozen more ready to trot forward at need. I never knew a name for him, but his face and form I do know. Father Abbot uses me a good deal on his business outside the cloister and I have occasion to know most of the fairs and markets in our shire and beyond. I"ve seen that fellow-not gowned like a provost, as he is now, I grant you, but by the look of him he"s been doing well lately-round every fairground, cultivating the company of those young, green roisterers who frequent every such gathering. For the contents of their pockets, surely. Most likely, dice. Even more likely, loaded dice. Though I wouldn"t say he might not pick a pocket here and there, if business was bad. A quicker means to the same end, if a riskier."
So knowing and practical a brother Cadfael had not encountered for some years among the innocents. Plainly Brother Adam"s frequent sallies out of the cloister on the abbot"s business had broadened his horizons. Cadfael regarded him with respect and warmth, and turned to study the smiling, benevolent merchant more closely.
"You"re sure of him?"
"Sure that he"s the same man, yes. Sure enough of his practices to challenge him openly, no, hardly, since he has never yet been taken up but once, and then he proved so slippery he slithered through the bailiffs fingers. But keep a weather eye on him, and this may be where he"ll make the slip every rogue makes in the end, and get his comeuppance."
"If you"re right," said Cadfael, "has he not strayed rather far from his own haunts? In my experience, from years back I own, his kind seldom left the region where they knew their way about better than the bailiffs. Has he made the south country so hot for him that he must run for a fresh territory? That argues something worse than cheating at dice."
Brother Adam hoisted dubious shoulders. "It could be. Some of our sc.u.m have found the disorders of faction very profitable, in their own way, just as their lords and masters have in theirs. Battles are not for them-far too dangerous to their own skins. But the brawls that blow up in towns where uneasy factions come together are meat and drink to them. Pockets to be picked, riots to be started-discreetly from the rear-unoffending elders who look prosperous to be knocked on the head or knifed from behind or have their purse-strings cut in the confusion... Safer and easier than taking to the woods and living wild for prey, as their kind do in the country."
Just such gatherings, thought Cadfael, as that at Winchester, where at least one man was knifed in the back and left dying. Might not the law in the south be searching for this man, to drive him so far from his usual hunting-grounds? For some worse offence than cheating silly young men of their money at dice? Something as black as murder itself?
"There are two or three others in the common guest-hall," he said, "about whom I have my doubts, but this man has had no truck with them so far as I"ve seen. But I"ll bear it in mind, and keep a watchful eye open, and have Brother Denis do the same. And I"ll mention what you say to Hugh Beringar, too, before this evening"s out. Both he and the town provost will be glad to have fair warning."
Since Ciaran was sitting quietly in the cloister garth, it seemed a pity he should be made to walk through the gardens to the herbarium, when Cadfael"s broad brown feet were in excellent condition, and sensibly equipped with stout sandals. So Cadfael fetched the salve he had used on Ciaran"s wounds and bruises, and the spirit that would brace and toughen his tender soles, and brought them to the cloister. It was pleasant there in the afternoon sun, and the turf was thick and springy and cool to bare feet. The roses were coming into full bloom, and their scent hung in the warm air like a benediction. But two such closed and sunless faces! Was the one truly condemned to an early death, and the other to lose and mourn so close a friend?
Ciaran was speaking as Cadfael approached, and did not at first notice him, but even when he was aware of the visitor bearing down on them he continued steadily to the end, "... you do but waste your time, for it will not happen. Nothing will be changed, don"t look for it. Never! You might far better leave me and go home."
Did the one of them believe in Saint Winifred"s power, and pray and hope for a miracle? And was the other, the sick man, all too pa.s.sionately of Rhun"s mind, and set on offering his early death as an acceptable and willing sacrifice, rather than ask for healing?
Matthew had not yet noticed Cadfael"s approach. His deep voice, measured and resolute, said just audibly, "Save your breath! For I will go with you, step for step, to the very end."
Then Cadfael was close, and they were both aware of him, and stirred defensively out of their private anguish, heaving in breath and schooling their faces to confront the outer world decently. They drew a little apart on the stone bench, welcoming Cadfael with somewhat strained smiles.
"I saw no need to make you come to me," said Cadfael, dropping to his knees and opening his scrip in the bright green turf, "when I am better able to come to you. So sit and be easy, and let me see how much work is yet to be done before you can go forth in good heart."
"This is kind, brother," said Ciaran, rousing himself with a sigh. "Be a.s.sured that I do go in good heart, for my pilgrimage is short and my arrival a.s.sured."
At the other end of the bench Matthew"s voice said softly, "Amen!"
After that it was all silence as Cadfael anointed the swollen soles, kneading spirit vigorously into the misused skin, surely heretofore accustomed always to going well shod, and soothed the ointment of cleavers into the healing grazes.
"There! Keep off your feet through tomorrow, but for such offices as you feel you must attend. Here there"s no need to go far. And I"ll come to you tomorrow and have you fit to stand somewhat longer the next day, when the saint is brought home." When he spoke of her now, he hardly knew whether he was truly speaking of the mortal substance of Saint Winifred, which was generally believed to be in that silver-chaced reliquary, or of some hopeful distillation of her spirit which could fill with sanct.i.ty even an empty coffin, even a casket containing pitiful, faulty human bones, unworthy of her charity, but subject, like all mortality, to the capricious, smiling mercies of those above and beyond question. If you could reason by pure logic for the occurrence of miracles, they would not be miracles, would they?
He scrubbed his hands on a handful of wool, and rose from his knees. In some twenty minutes or so it would be time for Vespers.
He had taken his leave, and almost reached the archway into the great court, when he heard rapid steps at his heels, a hand reached deprecatingly for his sleeve, and Matthew"s voice said in his ear, "Brother Cadfael, you left this lying."
It was his jar of ointment, of rough, greenish pottery, almost invisible in the gra.s.s. The young man held it out in the palm of a broad, strong, workmanlike hand, long-fingered and elegant. Dark eyes, reserved but earnestly curious, searched Cadfael"s face.
Cadfael took the jar with thanks, and put it away in his scrip. Ciaran sat where Matthew had left him, his face and burning gaze turned towards them; they stood at a distance, between him and the outer day, and he had, for one moment, the look of a soul abandoned to absolute solitude in a populous world.
Cadfael and Matthew stood gazing in speculation and uncertainty into each other"s eyes. This was that able, ready young man who had leaped into action at need, upon whom Melangell had fixed her young, unpractised heart, and to whom Rhun had surely looked for a hopeful way out for his sister, whatever might become of himself. Good, cultivated stock, surely, bred of some small gentry and taught a little Latin as well as his schooling in arms. How, except by the compulsion of inordinate love, did this one come to be ranging the country like a penniless vagabond, without root or attachment but to a dying man?
"Tell me truth," said Cadfael. "Is it indeed true-is it certain-that Ciaran goes this way towards his death?"
There was a brief moment of silence, as Matthew"s wide-set eyes grew larger and darker. Then he said very softly and deliberately, "It is truth. He is already marked for death. Unless your saint has a miracle for us, there is nothing can save him. Or me!" he ended abruptly, and wrenched himself away to return to his devoted watch.
Cadfael turned his back on supper in the refectory, and set off instead along the Foregate towards the town. Over the bridge that spanned the Severn, in through the gate, and up the curving slope of the Wyle to Hugh Beringar"s town house. There he sat and nursed his G.o.dson Giles, a large, comely, self-willed child, fair like his mother, and long of limb, some day to dwarf his small, dark, sardonic father. Aline brought food and wine for her husband and his friend, and then sat down to her needlework, favouring her menfolk from time to time with a smiling glance of serene contentment. When her son fell asleep in Cadfael"s lap she rose and lifted the boy away gently. He was heavy for her, but she had learned how to carry him lightly balanced on arm and shoulder. Cadfael watched her fondly as she bore the child away into the next room to his bed, and closed the door between.
"How is it possible that that girl can grow every day more radiant and lovely? I"ve known marriage rub the fine bloom off many a handsome maid. Yet it suits her as a halo does a saint."
"Oh, there"s something to be said for marriage," said Hugh idly. "Do I look so poorly on it? Though it"s an odd study for a man of your habit, after all these years of celibacy... And all the stravagings about the world before that! You can"t have thought too highly of the wedded state, or you"d have ventured on it yourself. You took no vows until past forty, and you a well-set-up young fellow crusading all about the east with the best of them. How do I know you have not an Aline of your own locked away somewhere, somewhere in your remembrance, as dear as mine is to me? Perhaps even a Giles of your own," he added, whimsically smiling, "a Giles G.o.d knows where, grown a man now..."
Cadfael"s silence and stillness, though perfectly easy and complacent, nevertheless sounded a mute warning in Hugh"s perceptive senses. On the edge of drowsiness among his cushions after a long day out of doors, he opened a black, considering eye to train upon his friend"s musing face, and withdrew delicately into practical business.
"Well, so this Simeon Poer is known in the south. I"m grateful to you and to Brother Adam for the nudge, though so far the man has set no foot wrong here. But these others you"ve pictured for me... At Wat"s tavern in the Foregate they"ve had practice in marking down strangers who come with a fair or a feast, and spread themselves large about the town. Wat tells my people he has a group moving in, very merry, some of them strangers. They could well be these you name. Some of them, of course, the usual young fellows of the town and the Foregate with more pence than sense. They"ve been drinking a great deal, and throwing dice. Wat does not like the way the dice fall."
"It"s as I supposed," said Cadfael, nodding. "For every Ma.s.s of ours they"ll be celebrating the Gamblers" Ma.s.s elsewhere. And by all means let the fools throw their money after their sense, so the odds be fair. But Wat knows a loaded throw when he sees one."
"He knows how to rid his house of the plague, too. He has hissed in the ears of one of the strangers that his tavern is watched, and they"d be wise to take their school out of there. And for tonight he has a lad on the watch, to find out where they"ll meet. Tomorrow night we"ll have at them, and rid you of them in good time for the feast day, if all goes well."
Which would be a very welcome cleansing, thought Cadfael, making his way back across the bridge in the first limpid dusk, with the river swirling its coiled currents beneath him in gleams of reflected light, low summer water leaving the islands outlined in swathes of drowned, browning weed. But as yet there was nothing to shed light, even by reflected, phantom gleams, upon that death so far away in the south country, whence the merchant Simeon Poer had set out. On pilgrimage for his respectable soul? Or in flight from a law aroused too fiercely for his safety, by something graver than the cozening of fools? Though Cadfael felt too close to folly himself to be loftily complacent even about that, however much it might be argued that gamblers deserved all they got.
The great gate of the abbey was closed, but the wicket in it stood open, shedding sunset light through from the west. In the mild dazzle Cadfael brushed shoulders and sleeves with another entering, and was a little surprised to be hoisted deferentially through the wicket by a firm hand at his elbow.
"Give you goodnight, brother!" sang a mellow voice in his ear, as the returning guest stepped within on his heels. And the solid, powerful, woollen-gowned form of Simeon Poer, self-styled merchant of Guildford, rolled vigorously past him, and crossed the great court to the stone steps of the guest-hall.
Chapter Six.
THEY WERE EMERGING from High Ma.s.s on the morning of the twenty-first day of June, the eve of Saint Winifred"s translation, stepping out into a radiant morning, when the abbot"s sedate progress towards his lodging was rudely disrupted by a sudden howl of dismay among the dispersing mult.i.tude of worshippers, a wild ripple of movement cleaving a path through their ranks, and the emergence of a frantic figure lurching forth on clumsy, naked feet to clutch at the abbot"s robe, and appeal in a loud, indignant cry, "Father Abbot, stand my friend and give me justice, for I am robbed! A thief, there is a thief among us!"
The abbot looked down in astonishment and concern into the face of Ciaran, convulsed and ablaze with resentment and distress.
"Father, I beg you, see justice done! I am helpless unless you help me!"
He awoke, somewhat late, to the unwarranted violence of his behaviour, and fell on his knees at the abbot"s feet. "Pardon, pardon! I am too loud and troublous, I hardly know what I say!"
The press of gossiping, festive worshippers just loosed from Ma.s.s had fallen quiet all in a moment, and instead of dispersing drew in about them to listen and stare, avidly curious. The monks of the house, hindered in their orderly departure, hovered in quiet deprecation. Cadfael looked beyond the kneeling, imploring figure of Ciaran for its inseparable twin, and found Matthew just shouldering his way forward out of the crowd, open-mouthed and wide-eyed in patent bewilderment, to stand at gaze a few paces apart, and frown helplessly from the abbot to Ciaran and back again, in search of the cause of this abrupt turmoil. Was it possible that something had happened to the one that the other of the matched pair did not know?
"Get up!" said Radulfus, erect and calm. "No need to kneel. Speak out whatever you have to say, and you shall have right."
The pervasive silence spread, grew, filled even the most distant reaches of the great court. Those who had already scattered to the far corners turned and crept un.o.btrusively back again, large-eyed and p.r.i.c.k-eared, to hang upon the fringes of the crowd already a.s.sembled.
Ciaran clambered to his feet, voluble before he was erect. "Father, I had a ring, the copy of one the lord bishop of Winchester keeps for his occasions, bearing his device and inscription. Such copies he uses to afford safe-conduct to those he sends forth on his business or with his blessing, to open doors to them and provide protection on the road. Father, the ring is gone!"
"This ring was given to you by Henry of Blois himself?" asked Radulfus.
"No, Father, not in person. I was in the service of the prior of Hyde Abbey, a lay clerk, when this mortal sickness came on me, and I took this vow of mine to spend my remaining days in the canonry of Aberdaron. My prior-you know that Hyde is without an abbot, and has been for some years-my prior asked the lord bishop, of his goodness, to give me what protection he could for my journey..."
So that had been the starting point of this barefoot journey, thought Cadfael, enlightened. Winchester itself, or as near as made no matter, for the New Minster of that city, always a jealous rival of the Old, where Bishop Henry presided, had been forced to abandon its old home in the city thirty years ago, and banished to Hyde Mead, on the north-western outskirts. There was no love lost between Henry and the community at Hyde, for it was the bishop who had been instrumental in keeping them deprived of an abbot for so long, in pursuit of his own ambition of turning them into an episcopal monastery. The struggle had been going on for some time, the bishop deploying various schemes to get the house into his own hands, and the prior using every means to resist these manipulations. It seemed Henry had still the grace to show compa.s.sion even on a servant of the hostile house, when he fell under the threat of disease and death. The traveller over whom the bishop-legate spread his protecting hand would pa.s.s unmolested wherever law retained its validity. Only those irreclaimably outlaw already would dare interfere with him.
"Father, the ring is gone, stolen from me this very morning. See here, the slashed threads that held it!" Ciaran heaved forward the drab linen scrip that rode at his belt, and showed two dangling ends of cord, very cleanly severed. "A sharp knife-someone here has such a dagger. And my ring is gone!"
Prior Robert was at the abbot"s elbow by then, agitated out of his silvery composure. "Father, what this man says is true. He showed me the ring. Given to ensure him aid and hospitality on his journey, which is of most sad and solemn import. If now it is lost, should not the gate be closed while we enquire?"
"Let it be so," said Radulfus, and stood silent to see Brother Jerome, ever ready and a.s.siduous on the prior"s heels, run to see the order carried out. "Now, take breath and thought, for your loss cannot be lost far. You did not wear the ring, then, but carried it knotted securely by this cord, within your scrip?"
"Yes, Father. It was beyond words precious to me."
"And when did you last ascertain that it was still there, and safe?"
"Father, this very morning I know I had it. Such few things as I possess, here they lie before you. Could I fail to see if this cord had been cut in the night while I slept? It is not so. This morning all was as I left it last night. I have been bidden to rest, by reason of my barefoot vow. Today I ventured out only for Ma.s.s. Here in the very church, in this great press of worshippers, some malevolent has broken every ban, and slashed loose my ring from me."
And indeed, thought Cadfael, running a considering eye round all the curious, watching faces, it would not be difficult, in such a press, to find the strings that anch.o.r.ed the hidden ring, flick it out from its hiding-place, cut the strings and make away with it, discreetly between crowding bodies, and never be seen by a soul or felt by the victim. A neat thing, done so privately and expertly that even Matthew, who missed nothing that touched his friend, had missed this impudent a.s.sault. For Matthew stood there staring, obviously taken by surprise, and unsure as yet how to take this turn of events. His face was unreadable, closed and still, his eyes narrowed and bright, darting from face to face as Ciaran or abbot or prior spoke. Cadfael noted that Melangell had stolen forward close to him, and taken him hesitantly by the sleeve. He did not shake her off. By the slight lift of his head and widening of his eyes he knew who had touched him, and he let his hand feel for hers and clasp it, while his whole attention seemed to be fixed on Ciaran. Somewhere not far behind them Rhun leaned on his crutches, his fair face frowning in anxious dismay, Aunt Alice attendant at his shoulder, bright with curiosity. Here are we all, thought Cadfael, and not one of us knows what is in any other mind, or who has done what has been done, or what will come of it for any of those who look on and marvel.
"You cannot tell," suggested Prior Robert, agitated and grieved, "who stood close to you during the service? If indeed some ill-conditioned person has so misused the holy office as to commit theft in the very sacredness of the Ma.s.s..."
"Father, I was intent only upon the altar." Ciaran shook with fervour, holding the ravished scrip open before him with his spa.r.s.e possessions bared to be seen. "We were close pressed, so many people... as is only seemly, in such a shrine... Matthew was close at my back, but so he ever is. Who else there may have been by me, how can I say? There was no man nor woman among us who was not hemmed in every way."
"It is truth," said Prior Robert, who had been much gratified at the large attendance. "Father, the gate is now closed, we are all here who were present at Ma.s.s. And surely we all have a desire to see this wrong righted."
"All, as I suppose," said Radulfus drily, "but one. One, who brought in here a knife or dagger sharp enough to slice through these tough cords cleanly. What other intents he brought in with him, I bid him consider and tremble for his soul. Robert, this ring must be found. All men of goodwill here will offer their aid, and show freely what they have. So will every guest who has not theft and sacrilege to hide. And see to it also that enquiry be made, whether other articles of value have not been missed. For one theft means one thief, here within."
"It shall be seen to, Father," said Robert fervently. "No honest, devout pilgrim will grudge to offer his aid. How could he wish to share his lodging here with a thief?"
There was a stir of agreement and support, perhaps slightly delayed, as every man and woman eyed a neighbour, and then in haste elected to speak first. They came from every direction, hitherto unknown to one another, mingling and forming friendships now with the abandon of holiday. But how did they know who was immaculate and who was suspect, now the world had probed a merciless finger within the fold?
"Father," pleaded Ciaran, still sweating and shaking with distress, "here I offer in this scrip all that I brought into this enclave. Examine it, show that I have indeed been robbed. Here I came without even shoes to my feet, my all is here in your hands. And my fellow Matthew will open to you his own scrip as freely, an example to all these others that they may deliver themselves pure of blame. What we offer, they will not refuse."
Matthew had withdrawn his hand from Melangell"s sharply at this word. He shifted the unbleached cloth scrip, very like Ciaran"s, round upon his hip. Ciaran"s meagre travelling equipment lay open in the prior"s hands. Robert slid them back into the pouch from which they had come, and looked where Ciaran"s distressed gaze guided him.
"Into your hands, Father, and willingly," said Matthew, and stripped the bag from its buckles and held it forth.
Robert acknowledged the offering with a grave bow, and opened and probed it with delicate consideration. Most of what was there within he did not display, though he handled it. A spare shirt and linen drawers, crumpled from being carried so, and laundered on the way, probably more than once. The means of a gentleman"s spa.r.s.e toilet, razor, morsel of lye soap, a leather-bound breviary, a lean purse, a folded trophy of embroidered ribbon. Robert drew forth the only item he felt he must show, a sheathed dagger, such as any gentleman might carry at his right hip, barely longer than a man"s hand.
"Yes, that is mine," said Matthew, looking Abbot Radulfus straightly in the eyes. "It has not slashed through those cords. Nor has it left my scrip since I entered your enclave, Father Abbot."
Radulfus looked from the dagger to its owner, and briefly nodded. "I well understand that no young man would set forth on these highroads today without the means of defending himself. All the more if he had another to defend, who carried no weapons. As I understand is your condition, my son. Yet within these walls you should not bear arms."
"What, then, should I have done?" demanded Matthew, with a stiffening neck, and a note in his voice that just fell short of defiance.
"What you must do now," said Radulfus firmly. "Give it into the care of Brother Porter at the gatehouse, as others have done with their weapons. When you leave here you may reclaim it freely."
There was nothing to be done but bow the head and give way gracefully, and Matthew managed it decently enough, but not gladly. "I will do so, Father, and pray your pardon that I did not ask advice before."
"But, Father," Ciaran pleaded anxiously, "my ring... How shall I survive the way if I have not that safe-conduct to show?"
"Your ring shall be sought throughout this enclave, and every man who bears no guilt for its loss," said the abbot, raising his voice to carry to the distant fringes of the silent crowd, "will freely offer his own possessions for inspection. See to it, Robert!"
With that he proceeded on his way, and the crowd, after some moments of stillness as they watched him out of sight, dispersed in a sudden murmur of excited speculation. Prior Robert took Ciaran under his wing, and swept away with him towards the guest-hall, to recruit help from Brother Denis in his enquiries after the bishop"s ring; and Matthew, not without one hesitant glance at Melangell, turned on his heel and went hastily after them.
A more innocent and co-operative company than the guests at Shrewsbury abbey that day it would have been impossible to find. Every man opened his bundle or box almost eagerly, in haste to demonstrate his immaculate virtue. The quest, conducted as delicately as possible, went on all the afternoon, but they found no trace of the ring. Moreover, one or two of the better-off inhabitants of the common dormitory, who had had no occasion to penetrate to the bottom of their baggage so far, made grievous discoveries when they were obliged to do so. A yeoman from Lichfield found his reserve purse lighter by half than when he had tucked it away. Master Simeon Poer, one of the first to fling open his possessions, and the loudest in condemning so blasphemous a crime, claimed to have been robbed of a silver chain he had intended to present at the altar next day. A poor parish priest, making this pilgrimage the one fulfilled dream of his life, was left lamenting the loss of a small casket, made by his own hands over more than a year, and decorated with inlays of silver and gla.s.s, in which he had hoped to carry back with him some memento of his visit, a dried flower from the garden, even a thread or two drawn from the fringe of the altar-cloth under Saint Winifred"s reliquary. A merchant from Worcester could not find his good leather belt to his best coat, saved up for the morrow. One or two others had a suspicion that their belongings had been fingered and scorned, which was worst of all.
It was all over, and fruitless, when Cadfael at last repaired to his workshop in time to await the coming of Rhun. The boy came prompt to his hour, great-eyed and thoughtful, and lay submissive and mute under Cadfael"s ministrations, which probed every day a little deeper into his knotted and stubborn tissues.
"Brother," he said at length, looking up, "you did not find a dagger in any other man"s pouch, did you?"
"No, no such thing." Though there had been, understandably, a number of small, homely knives, the kind a man needs to hack his bread and meat in lodgings along the way, or meals under a hedge. Many of them were sharp enough for most everyday purposes, but not sharp enough to leave stout cords sheared through without a twitch to betray the a.s.sault. "But men who go shaven carry razors, too, and a blunt razor would be an abomination. Once a thief comes into the pale, child, it"s hard for honest men to be a match for him. He who has no scruple has always the advantage of those who keep to rule. But you need not trouble your heart, you"ve done no wrong to any man. Never let this ill thing spoil tomorrow for you."
"No," agreed the boy, still preoccupied. "But, brother, there is another dagger-one, at least. Sheath and all, a good length-I know, I was pressed close against him yesterday at Ma.s.s. You know I have to hold fast by my crutches to stand for long, and he had a big linen scrip on his belt, hard against my hand and arm, where we were crowded together. I felt the shape of it, cross-hilt and all. I know! But you did not find it."
"And who was it," asked Cadfael, still carefully working the tissues that resisted his fingers, "who had this armoury about him at Ma.s.s?"
"It was that big merchant with the good gown-made from valley wool. I"ve learned to know cloth. They call him Simeon Poer. But you didn"t find it. Perhaps he"s handed it to Brother Porter, just as Matthew has had to do now."
"Perhaps," said Cadfael. "When was it you discovered this? Yesterday? And what of today? Was he again close to you?"
"No, not today."
No, today he had stood stolidly to watch the play, eyes and ears alert, ready to open his pouch there before all if need be, smiling complacently as the abbot directed the disarming of another man. He had certainly had no dagger on him then, however he had disposed of it in the meantime. There were hiding-places enough here within the walls, for a dagger and any amount of small, stolen valuables. To search was itself only a pretence, unless authority was prepared to keep the gates closed and the guests prisoned within until every yard of the gardens had been dug up, and every bed and bench in dortoir and hall pulled to pieces. The sinners have always the start of the honest men.
"It was not fair that Matthew should be made to surrender his dagger," said Rhun, "when another man had one still about him. And Ciaran already so terribly afraid to stir, not having his ring. He won"t even come out of the dortoir until tomorrow. He is sick for loss of it."
Yes, that seemed to be true. And how strange, thought Cadfael, p.r.i.c.ked into realisation, to see a man sweating for fear, who has already calmly declared himself as one condemned to death? Then why fear? Fear should be dead.
Yet men are strange, he thought in revulsion. And a blessed and quiet death in Aberdaron, well-prepared, and surrounded by the prayers and compa.s.sion of like-minded votaries, may well seem a very different matter from crude slaughter by strangers and footpads somewhere in the wilder stretches of the road.
But this Simeon Poer-say he had such a dagger yesterday, and therefore may well have had it on him today, in the crowded array of the Ma.s.s. Then what did he do with it so quickly, before Ciaran discovered his loss? And how did he know he must perforce dispose of it quickly? Who had such fair warning of the need, if not the thief?
"Trouble your head no more," said Cadfael, looking down at the boy"s beautiful, vulnerable face, "for Matthew nor for Ciaran, but think only of the morrow, when you approach the saint. Both she and G.o.d see you all, and have no need to be told of what your needs are. All you have to do is wait in quiet for whatever will be. For whatever it may be, it will not be wanton. Did you take your dose last night?"
Rhun"s pale, brilliant eyes were startled wide open, sunlight and ice, blindingly clear. "No. It was a good day, I wanted to give thanks. It isn"t that I don"t value what you can do for me. Only I wished also to give something. And I did sleep, truly I slept well..."
"So do tonight also," said Cadfael gently, and slid an arm round the boy"s body to hoist him steadily upright. "Say your prayers, think quietly what you should do, do it, and sleep. There is no man living, neither king nor emperor, can do more or better, or trust in a better harvest."
Ciaran did not stir from within the guest-hall again that day. Matthew did, against all precedent emerging from the arched doorway without his companion, and standing at the head of the stone staircase to the great court with hands spread to touch the courses of the deep doorway, and head drawn back to heave in great breaths of evening air. Supper was eaten, the milder evening stir of movement threaded the court, in the cool, grateful lull before Compline. Brother Cadfael had left the chapter-house before the end of the readings, having a few things to attend to in the herbarium, and was crossing towards the garden when he caught sight of the young man standing there at the top of the steps, breathing in deeply and with evident pleasure. For some reason Matthew looked taller for being alone, and younger, his face closed but tranquil in the soft evening light. When he moved forward and began to descend to the court, Cadfael looked instinctively for the other figure that should have been close behind him, if not in its usual place a step before him, but no Ciaran emerged. Well, he had been urged to rest, and presumably was glad to comply, but never before had Matthew left his side, by night or day, resting or stirring. Not even to follow Melangell, except broodingly with his eyes and against his will.
People, thought Cadfael, going on his way without haste, people are endlessly mysterious, and I am endlessly curious. A sin to be confessed, no doubt, and well worth a penance. As long as man is curious about his fellowman, that appet.i.te alone will keep him alive. Why do folk do the things they do? Why, if you know you are diseased and dying, and wish to reach a desired haven before the end, why do you condemn yourself to do the long journey barefoot, and burden yourself with a weight about your neck? How are you thus rendered more acceptable to G.o.d, when you might have lent a hand to someone on the road crippled not by perversity but from birth, like the boy Rhun? And why do you dedicate your youth and strength to following another man step by step the length of the land, and why does he suffer you to be his shadow, when he should be composing his mind to peace, and taking a decent leave of his friends, not laying his own load upon them?
There he checked, rounding the corner of the yew hedge into the rose garden. It was not his fellow-man he beheld, sitting in the turf on the far side of the flower beds, gazing across the slope of the pease fields beyond and the low, stony, silvery summer waters of the Meole brook, but his fellow-woman, solitary and still, her knees drawn up under her chin and encircled closely by her folded arms. Aunt Alice Weaver, no doubt, was deep in talk with half a dozen worthy matrons of her own generation, and Rhun, surely, already in his bed. Melangell had stolen away alone to be quiet here in the garden and nurse her lame dreams and indomitable hopes. She was a small, dark shape, gold-haloed against the bright west. By the look of that sky, tomorrow, Saint Winifred"s day, would again be cloudless and beautiful.
The whole width of the rose garden was between them, and she did not hear him come and pa.s.s by on the gra.s.sy path to his final duties of the day in his workshop, seeing everything put away tidily, checking the stoppers of all his flagons and flasks, and making sure the brazier, which had been in service earlier, was safely quenched and cooled. Brother Oswin, young, enthusiastic and devoted, was nonetheless liable to overlook details, though he had now outlived his tendency to break things. Cadfael ran an eye over everything, and found it good. There was no hurry now, he had time before Compline to sit down here in the wood-scented dimness and think. Time for others to lose and find one another, and use or waste these closing moments of the day. For those three blameless tradesmen, Walter Bagot, glover; John Shure, tailor; William Hales, farrier; to betake themselves to wherever their dice school was to meet this night, and run their necks into Hugh"s trap. Time for that more ambiguous character, Simeon Poer, to evade or trip into the same snare, or go the other way about some other nocturnal business of his own. Cadfael had seen two of the former three go out from the gatehouse, and the third follow some minutes later, and was sure in his own mind that the self-styled merchant of Guildford would not be long after them. Time, too, for that unaccountably solitary young man, somehow loosed off his chain, to range this whole territory suddenly opened to him, and happen upon the solitary girl.
Cadfael put up his feet on the wooden bench, and closed his eyes for a brief respite.
Matthew was there at her back before she knew it. The sudden rustle as he stepped into sun-dried long gra.s.s at the edge of the field startled her, and she swung round in alarm, scrambling to her knees and staring up into his face with dilated eyes, half-blinded by the blaze of the sunset into which she had been steadily staring. Her face was utterly open, vulnerable and childlike. She looked as she had looked when he had swept her up in his arms and leaped the ditch with her, clear of the galloping horses. Just so she had opened her eyes and looked up at him, still dazed and frightened, and just so had her fear melted away into wonder and pleasure, finding in him nothing but rea.s.surance, kindness and admiration.
That pure, paired encounter of eyes did not last long. She blinked, and shook her head a little to clear her dazzled vision, and looked beyond him, searching, not believing he could be here alone.
"Ciaran...? Is there something you need for him?"