After a long moment Edric asked: “There was only one, dead after this fashion? No second?”
“Should there have been? Is not one enough?”
“There were two,” said Edric harshly. “Two who set out together upon the same errand. How did this death come to light? It seems you are the only man who knows.”
Brother Cadfael sat back and told them all, without haste. If he had missed Vespers, so be it. He valued and respected his duties, but if they clashed, he knew which way he must go. Godith would not stir from her safe solitude without him, not until her evening schooling.
“Now,” he said, “you had better tell me. I have Godith to protect, and Faintree to avenge, and I mean to do both as best I can.”
The two of them exchanged glances, and understood each other. It was the man who took up the tale.
“A week before the castle and the town fell, with FitzAlan’s family already away, and our plans made to place the girl with your abbey in hiding, FitzAlan also took thought for the end, if he died. He never ran until they broke in at the gates, you know that? By the skin of his teeth he got away, swam the river with Adeney at his shoulder, and got clear. God be thanked! But the day before the end he made provision for whether he lived or died. His whole treasury had been left with us here, he wanted it to reach the empress if he were slain. That day we moved it out into Frankwell, to a garden I hold there, so that there need be no bridge to pass if we had to convey it away at short notice. And we fixed a signal. If any of his party came with a certain token — a trifle it was, a drawing, but private to us who knew — they should be shown where the treasury was, provided with horses, all they might need, and put over there to pick up the valuables and make their break by night.”
“And so it was done?” said Cadfael.
“On the morning of the fall. It came so early, and in such force, we’d left it all but too late. Two of them came. We sent them over the bridge to wait for night. What could they have done by daylight?”
“Tell me more. What time did these two come to you that morning, what had they to say, how did they get their orders? How many may have known what was toward? How many would have known the way they would take? When did you last see them both alive?”
“They came just at dawn. We could hear the din by then, the assault had begun. They had the parchment leaf that was the signal, the head of a saint drawn in ink. They said there had been a council the night before, and FitzAlan had said then he would have them go the following day, whatever happened and whether he lived or no, get the treasury away safe to the empress, for her use in defending her right.”
“Then all who were at that council would know those two would be on the road the following night, as soon as it was dark enough. Would they also know the road? Did they know where the treasury was hidden?”
“No, where we had put it, beyond that it was in Frankwell, no one had been told. Only FitzAlan and I knew that. Those two squires had to come to me.”
“Then any who had ill designs on the treasury, even if they knew the time of its removal, could not go and get it for themselves, they could only waylay it on the road. If all those officers close to FitzAlan knew that it was to be taken westward into Wales from Frankwell, there’d be no doubt about the road. For the first mile and more there is but one, by reason of the coils of the river on either side.”
“You are thinking that one of those who knew thought to get the gold for himself, by murder?” said Edric. “One of FitzAlan’s own men? I cannot believe it! And surely all, or most, stayed to the end, and died. Two men riding by night could well be waylaid by pure chance, by men living wild in the forest . . .”
“Within a mile of the town walls? Don’t forget, whoever killed this lad did so close enough to Shrewsbury castle to have ample time and means to take his body and toss it among all those others in the ditch, long before the night was over. Knowing very well that all those others would be there. Well, so they came, they showed their credentials, they told you the plan had been made the previous evening, come what might. But what came, came earlier and more fiercely than anyone had expected, and all done in haste. Then what? You went with them over to Frankwell?”
“I did. I have a garden and a barn there, where they and their horses lay in hiding until dark. The valuables were packed into two pairs of saddle-bags—-one horse with his rider and that load would have been overdone-in a cavity in a dry well on my land there. I saw them safe under cover, and left them there about nine in the morning.”
“And at what time would they venture to start?”
“Not until full dark. And do you truly tell me Faintree was murdered, soon after they set out?”
“Past doubt he was. Had it been done miles away, he would have been disposed of some other way. This was planned, and ingenious. But not ingenious enough. You knew Faintree well — or so Godith gave me to think. Who was the other? Did you also know him?”
Heavily and slowly, Edric said, “No! It seemed to me that Nicholas knew him well enough, they were familiar together like good comrades, but Nicholas was one open to any new friend. I had never seen this lad before. He was from another of FitzAlan’s northern manors. He gave his name as Torold Blund.”
They had told him all they knew, and something more than had been said in words. Edric’s brooding frown spoke for him. The young man they knew and trusted was dead, the one they did not know vanished, and with him FitzAlan’s valuables, plate and coin and jewellery, intended for the empress’s coffers. Enough to tempt any man. The murderer clearly knew all he needed to know in order to get possession of that hoard; and who could have known half so well as the second courier himself? Another might certainly waylay the prize on the road. Torold Blund need not even have waited for that. Those two had been in hiding together all that day in Edric’s barn. It was possible that Nicholas Faintree had never left it until he was dead, draped over a horse for the short ride back to the castle ditch, before two horses with one rider set out westward into Wales.
“There was one more thing happened that day,” said Petronilla, as Cadfael rose to take his leave. “About two of the clock, after the king’s men had manned both bridges and dropped the draw-bridge, he came — Hugh Beringar, he that was betrothed to my girl from years back — making pretence to be all concern for her, and asking where he could find her. Tell him? No, what do you take me for? I told him she’d been taken away a good week before the town fell, and we were not told where, but I thought she was far away by now, and safe out of Stephen’s country. Right well we knew he must have come to us with Stephen’s authority, or he would never have been let through so soon. He’d been to the king’s camp before ever he came hunting for my Godith, and it’s not for love he’s searching for her. She’s worth a fat commission, as bait for her father, if not for FitzAlan himself. Don’t let my lamb get within his sight, for I hear he’s living in the abbey now.”
“And he was here that very afternoon?” pressed Cadfael, concerned. “Yes, yes, I’ll take good care to keep her away from him, I’ve seen that danger. But there could not have been any mention when he came here, could there, of Faintree’s mission? Nothing to make him prick his ears? He’s very quick, and very private! No — no, I ask your pardon, I know you’d never let out word. Ah, well, my thanks for your help, and you shall know if I make progress.”
He was at the door when Petronilla said grievingly at his shoulder: “And he seemed such a fine young lad, this Torold Blund! How can a body tell what lies behind the decent, ordinary face?”