“You recognise none of them — I know. They are nothing to do with you, happily for you and for me. These,” said Cadfael, stooping to pick up and shake out shirt and hose and cotte, “are the clothes Nicholas Faintree was wearing when he was strangled by night, in a hut in the woods above Frankwell, and thrown among the executed under the castle wall, to cover up the deed.”
“Your one man too many,” said Beringar, low-voiced.
“The same. Torold Blund rode with him, but they were separated when this befell. The murderer was waiting also for him, but with the second one he failed. Torold won away with his charge.”
“That part I know,” said Beringar. “The last he said to you, and you to him, that evening in the mill, that I heard, but no more.”
He looked long at the poor relics, the dark brown hose and russet cotte, a young squire’s best. He looked up at Cadfael, and eyed him steadily, very far from laughter now. “I understand. You put these together to spring upon me when I was unprepared — when I looked for something very different. For me to see, and recoil from my own guilt. If this happened the night after the town fell, I had ridden out alone, as I recall. And I had been in the town the same afternoon, and to say all, yes, I did gather more than she bargained for from Petronilla. I knew this was in the wind, that there were two in Frankwell waiting for darkness before they rode. Though what I was listening for was a clue to Godith, and that I got, too. Yes, I see that I might well be suspect. But do I seem to you a man who would kill, and in so foul a fashion, just to secure the trash those children are carrying away with them into Wales?”
“Trash?” echoed Cadfael, mildly and thoughtfully.
“Oh, pleasant to have, and useful, I know. But once you have enough of it for your needs, the rest of it is trash. Can you eat it, wear it, ride it, keep off the rain and the cold with it, read it, play music on it, make love to it?”
“You can buy the favour of kings with it,” suggested Cadfael, but very placidly.
“I have the king’s favour. He blows too many ways as his advisers persuade him, but left alone he knows a man when he finds one. And he demands unbecoming services when he’s angry and vengeful, but he despises those who run too servilely to perform, and never leave him time to think better of his vindictiveness. I was with him in his camp a part of that evening, he has accepted me to hold my own castles and border for him, and raise the means and the men in my own way, which suits me very well. Yes, I would have liked, when such a chance offered, to secure FitzAlan’s gold for him, but losing it is no great matter, and it was a good fight. So answer me, Cadfael, do I seem to you a man who would strangle his fellow-man from behind for money?”
“No! There were the circumstances that made it a possibility, but long ago I put that out of mind. You are no such man. You value yourself too high to value a trifle of gold above your self-esteem. I was as sure as man could well be, before I put it to the test tonight,” said Cadfael, “that you wished Godith well out of her peril, and were nudging my elbow with the means to get her away. To try at the same time for the gold was fair dealing enough. No, you are not my man. There is not much,” he allowed consideringly, “that I would put out of your scope, but killing by stealth is one thing I would never look for from you, now that I know you. Well, so you can’t help me. There’s nothing here to shake you, and nothing for you to recognise.”
“Not recognise — no, not that.” Beringar picked up the yellow topaz in its broken silver claw, and turned it thoughtfully in his hands. He rose, and held it to the lamp to examine it better. “I never saw it before. But for all that, my thumbs prick. This, after a fashion, I think I may know. I watched with Aline while she prepared her brother’s body for burial. All his things she put together and brought them, I think, to you to be given as aims, all but the shirt that was stained with his death-sweat. She spoke of something that was not there, but should have been there — a dagger that was hereditary in her family, and went always to the eldest son when he came of age. As she described it to me, I do believe this may be the great stone that tipped the hilt.” He looked up with furrowed brows. “Where did you find this? Not on your dead man!”
“Not on him, no. But trampled into the earth floor, where Torold had rolled and struggled with the murderer. And it does not belong to any dagger of Torold’s. There is only one other who can have worn it.”
“Are you saying,” demanded Beringar, aghast, “that it was Aline’s brother who slew Faintree? Has she to bear that, too?”
“You are forgetting, for once, your sense of time,” said Brother Cadfael, reassuringly. “Giles Siward was dead several hours before Nicholas Faintree was murdered. No, never fear, there’s no guilt there can touch Aline. No, rather, whoever killed Nicholas Faintree had first robbed the body of Giles, and went to his ambush wearing the dagger he had contemptibly stolen.”
Beringar sat down abruptly on Godith’s bed, and held his head hard -between his hands. “For God’s sake, give me more wine, my mind no longer works.” And when his beaker was refilled he drank thirstily, picked up the topaz again and sat weighing it in his hand. “Then we have some indication of the man you want. He was surely present through part, at any rate, of that grisly work done at the castle, for there, if we’re right, he lifted the pretty piece of weaponry to which this thing belongs. But he left before the work ended, for it went on into the night, and by then, it seems, he was lurking in ambush on the other side Frankwell. How did he learn of their plans? May not one of those poor wretches have tried to buy his own life by betraying them? Your man was there when the killing began, but left well before the end. Prestcote was there surely, Ten Heyt and his Flemings were there and did the work, Courcelle, I hear, fled the business as soon as he could, and took to the cleaner duties of scouring the town for FitzAlan, and small blame to him.”
“Not all the Flemings,” Cadfael pointed out, “speak English.”
“But some do. And among those ninety-four surely more than half spoke French just as well. Any one of the Flemings might have taken the dagger. A valuable piece, and a dead man has no more need of it. Cadfael, I tell you, I feel as you do about this business, such a death must not go unavenged. Don’t you think, since it can’t be any further grief or shame to her, I might show this thing to Aline, and make certain whether it is or is not from the hilt she knew?”
“I think,” said Cadfael, “that you may. And after chapter we’ll meet again here, if you will. If, that is, I am not so loaded with penance at chapter that I vanish from men’s sight for a week.”
In the event, things turned out very differently. If his absence at Matins and Lauds had been noticed at all, it was clean forgotten before chapter, and no one, not even Prior Robert, ever cast it up at him or demanded penance. For after the former day’s excitement and distress, another and more hopeful upheaval loomed. King Stephen with his new levies, his remounts and his confiscated provisions, was about to move south towards Worcester, to attempt inroads into the western stronghold of Earl Robert of Gloucester, the Empress Maud’s half-brother and loyal champion. The vanguard of his army was to march the next day, and the king himself, with his personal guard, was moving today into Shrewsbury castle for two nights, to inspect and secure his defences there, before marching after the vanguard. He was well satisfied with the results of his foraging, and disposed to forget any remaining grudges, for he had invited to his table at the castle, this Tuesday evening, both Abbot Heribert and Prior Robert, and in the flurry of preparation minor sins were overlooked.
Cadfael repaired thankfully to his workshop, and lay down and slept on Godith’s bed until Hugh Beringar came to wake him. Hugh had the topaz in his hand, and his face was grave and tired, but serene.