Peters, Ellis – Cadfael 02 – One Corpse Too Many

“I wish,” said Torold fiercely, “I could both go and stay! I should be glad to be the one to avenge Nick, he was a good friend to me. But my part is to obey my orders, and get FitzAlan’s goods safely over to him in France. And,” he said, regarding Cadfael steadily, “to take with me also Fulke Adeney’s daughter, and deliver her safe to her father. If you will trust her to me.”

“And help us,” added Godith with immense confidence.

“Trust her to you — I might,” said Cadfael mildly. “And help you both I surely will, as best I can. A very simple matter! All I have to do — and mark you, she has the assurance to demand it of me! — is to conjure you two good horses out of the empty air, where even poor hacks are gold, retrieve your hidden treasure for you, and see you well clear of the town, westward into Wales. Just a trifle! Harder things are done daily by the saints . . .”

He had reached this point when he stiffened suddenly, and spread a warning hand to enjoin silence. Listening with ears stretched, he caught for a second time the soft sound of a foot moving warily in the edge of the rustling stubble, close to the open door.

“What is it?” asked Godith in a soundless whisper, her eyes immense in alarm.

“Nothing!” said Cadfael as softly. “My ears playing tricks.” And aloud he said: “Well, you and I must be getting back for Vespers. Come! It wouldn’t do to be late.”

Torold accepted his silent orders, and let them go without a word from him. If someone had indeed been listening . . . But he had heard nothing, and it seemed to him that even Cadfael was not sure. Why alarm Godith? Brother Cadfael was her best protector here, and once within the abbey walls she would again be in sanctuary. As for Torold, he was his own responsibility, though he would have been happier if he had had a sword!

Brother Cadfael reached down into the capacious waist of his habit, and drew out a long poniard in a rubbed and worn leather scabbard. Silently he put it into Torold’s hands. The young man took it, marvelling, staring as reverently as at a first small miracle, so apt was the answer to his thought. He had it by the sheath, the cross of the hilt before his face, and was still gazing in wonder as they went out from him into the evening, and drew the door closed after them. Cadfael took the memory of that look with him into the fresh, saffron air of sunset. He himself must once have worn the same rapt expression, contemplating the same uplifted hilt. When he had taken the Cross, long ago, his vow had been made on that hilt, and the dagger had gone with him to Jerusalem, and roved the eastern seas with him for ten years. Even when he gave up his’ sword along with the things of this world, and surrendered all pride of possessions, he had kept the poniard. Just as well to part with it at last, to someone who had need of it and would not disgrace it

He looked about him very cautiously as they rounded the corner of the mill and crossed the race. His hearing was sharp as a wild creature’s, and he had heard no whisper or rustle from outside until the last few moments of their talk together, nor could he now be certain that what he had heard was a human foot, it might well have been a small animal slipping through the stubble. All the same, he must take thought for what might happen if they really had been spied upon. Surely, at the worst, only the last few exchanges could have been overheard, though those were revealing enough. Had the treasure been mentioned? Yes, he himself had said that all that was required of him was to obtain two horses, retrieve the treasure, and see them safely headed for Wales. Had anything been said then of where the treasure was hidden? No, that had been much earlier. But the listener, if listener there had been, could well have learned that a hunted fugitive of FitzAlan’s party was in hiding there, and worse, that Adeney’s daughter was being sheltered in the abbey.

This was getting too warm for comfort. Best get them away as soon as the boy was fit to ride. But if this evening passed, and the night, and no move was made to betray them, he would suspect he had been fretting over nothing. There was no one in sight here but a solitary boy fishing, absorbed and distant on the river bank.

“What was it?” asked Godith, meek and attentive beside him. “Something made you uneasy, I know.”

“Nothing to worry your head about,” said Cadfael. “I was mistaken. Everything is as it should be.”

From the corner of his eye, at that moment, he caught the sudden movement down towards the river, beyond the clump of bushes where she had found Torold. Out of the meagre cover a slight, agile body unfolded and stood erect, stretching lazily, and drifted at an oblique angle towards the path on which they walked, his course converging with theirs. Hugh Beringar, his stride nicely calculated to look accidental and yet bring him athwart their path at the right moment, showed them a placid and amiable face, recognising Cadfael with pleasure, accepting his attendant boy with benevolence.

“A very fair evening, brother! You’re bound for Vespers? So am I. We may walk together?”

“Very gladly,” said Cadfael heartily. He tapped Godith on the shoulder, and handed her the small sacking bundle that held his herbs and dressings. “Run ahead, Godric, and put these away for me, and come down to Vespers with the rest of the boys. You’ll save my legs, and have time to give a stir to that lotion I have been brewing. Go on, child, run!”

And Godith clasped the bundle and ran, taking good care to run like an athletic boy, rattling one hand along the tall stubble, and whistling as she went, glad enough to put herself out of that young man’s sight. Her own eyes and mind were full of another young man.

“A most biddable lad you have,” said Hugh Beringar benignly, watching her race ahead.

“A good boy,” said Cadfael placidly, matching him step for step across the field blanched to the colour of cream. “He has a year’s endowment with us, but I doubt if he’ll take the cowl. But he’ll have learned his letters, and figuring, and a good deal about herbs and medicines, it will stand him in good stead. You’re at leisure today, my lord?”

“Not so much at leisure,” said Hugh Beringar with equal serenity, “as in need of your skills and knowledge. I tried your garden first, and not finding you there, thought you might have business today over here in the main gardens and orchard. But for want of a sight of you anywhere, I sat down to enjoy the evening sunshine, here by the river. I knew you’d come to Vespers, but never realised you had fields beyond here. Js all the corn brought in now?”

“All that we have here. The sheep will be grazing the stubble very shortly. What was it you wanted of me, my lord? If I may serve you in accord with my duty, be sure I will.”

“Yesterday morning, Brother Cadfael, I asked you if you would give any request of mine fair consideration, and you told me you give fair consideration to all that you do. And I believe it. I had in mind what was then no more than a rumoured threat, now it’s a real one. I have reason to know that King Stephen is already making plans to move on, and means to make sure of his supplies and his mounts. The siege of Shrewsbury has cost him plenty, and he now has more mouths to feed and more men to mount. It’s not generally known, or too many would be taking thought to evade it, as I am,” owned Beringar blithely, “but he’s about to issue orders to have every homestead in the town searched, and a tithe of all fodder and provisions in store commandeered for the army’s use. And all — mark that, all — the good horses to be found, no matter who owns them, that are not already in army or garrison service. The abbey stables will not be exempt.”

This Cadfael did not like at all. It came far too pat, a shrewd thrust at his own need of horses, and most ominous indication that Hugh Beringar, who had this information in advance of the general citizens, might also be as well informed of what went on in other quarters. Nothing this young man said or did would ever be quite what it seemed, but whatever game he played would always be his own game. The less said in reply, at this stage, the better. Two could play their own games, and both, possibly, benefit. Let him first say out what he wanted, even if what he said would have to be scrutinised from all angles, and subjected to every known test.

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