That was over. She could not be cheated like that again. Two things at least she could cling to: he was not taken, and she was not married.
She caught the sound of a hand at the door, and shrank within herself, wary and still. But when the door opened, and Agnes appeared, it was with a face almost benign, and a voice almost solicitous, surely for the benefit of the visitor who came in at her shoulder. Iveta stared in astonishment at the transformation.
“Still awake, child? Then here is a good friend enquiring after you. May he come in for a few minutes? You are not too tired?”
He was in already, Simon in his best, and on his best behavior for her aunt and uncle; and his best behavior must have made its impression, for he was actually allowed to be alone with her. Agnes was withdrawing, smiling her benevolence in her best public manner. “Only a few minutes. She should not exert herself longer tonight.”
She was gone, and the door had closed after her. Simon’s pleasant, boyish face shed its wariness instantly, and he came striding to Iveta’s bedside, pulled up a stool, and sat down beside her. She raised herself gladly on her pillows, the gold mane of her hair loose over the shoulders of her linen gown.
“Softly!” he warned, finger to lip. “Speak low, your dragon may be set on to listen. I’m let in briefly to pay my respects and enquire how you are. God knows I was sorry to see you so shocked. Did they never tell you he broke free?”
She shook her head, almost too full to speak. “Oh, Simon, is there news? Not…”
“Not good nor ill,” he said quickly, in the same low and rapid whisper. “Nothing has changed. He’s still at liberty, and pray God he will be. They’ll be hunting for him, I know. But so shall I,” he said meaningly, and took the small hand that groped out blindly towards him. “Take heart! They’ve searched all day, and no one has laid hand or eye on him yet, who knows but he’s away out of the circle long since. He’s strong, and bold …”
“Too bold!” she said ruefully.
“And still has friends, for all they’ve charged against him. Friends who don’t believe in his guilt!”
“Oh, Simon, you do me so much good!”
“I would I might do more, for you and for him. But take comfort, all you need do is be patient and wait. One threat is gone from you. Now, if he continues free, there’s no urgency, you can wait.”
“And truly you don’t believe he ever stole? Nor that he has killed?” she pleaded hungrily.
“I know he has not,” said Simon firmly, with all the self-assurance with which Guy had good-naturedly charged him. “The only wrong he has done is to love where love was not allowed. Oh, I know!” he said quickly, seeing her flinch and turn her face aside. “Forgive me if I’m presumptuous, but he’s my friend and has spoken with me as a friend. I do know!” He cast an uneasy glance over his shoulder, and smiled wry reasurrance at her. “Your aunt will be beginning to frown. I should go. But remember, Joss is not friendless.”
“I will,” she said fervently, “and thank God and you for it. You’ll come again, Simon, if you can? You can’t imagine how you comfort me.”
“I’ll come,” he promised, and stooped hurriedly to kiss her hand. “Goodnight now! Sleep well, and don’t be afraid.”
He was on his way to the door when Agnes opened it, still benevolent, but watchful all the same. This young man was Huon de Domville’s nephew, and partook of the deference accorded his uncle in life. But the watch on Iveta would never be wholly relaxed until she was profitably disposed of, and the gains secured.
The door closed. Iveta was ready now for sleep, the load on her heart greatly lightened. She drank Brother Cadfael’s potion, honeysweet and heavy, and blew out her candle.
When Madlen came prowling suspiciously, Iveta was already asleep.
After Compline Brother Cadfael asked audience of Abbot Radulfus, in his own study in the abbot’s lodging. It was a good hour for grave conversation, a day of many passions over at last, the night’s needful composure closing in.
“Father, I have told you all I know of this matter, but for one thing. You know that I have knowledge of herbs. In the capuchon I brought back and delivered to the sheriff this evening, I found a herb which I know to be exceedingly rare, even in Wales, where it does habit in some places. Here I had never before met with it. Yet Huon de Domville, in his last night in this world, was where this herb grows. Father, I think this circumstance of the greatest importance, and it is my wish to find this place, and discover what business the dead man had there, on his marriage eve. I believe it may have a bearing on his death, the manner of it, and the maker of it.”
He had the little faded posy in his palm, a drying bunch of thin stems, thread-like green leaves and wilting, starry flowers, still surprisingly blue.
“Show me,” said the abbot, and gazed with wondering attention. “And you can say where such a thing grows, and where it does not grow?”
“In grows in a few, a very few places, where the chalk or limestone crops out. I have never before seen it in England.”
“And by this you believe you can divine where our murdered man spent his night?”
“We know the path by which he was returning. By that same path he surely went, when he left his squire at the gate. It is my wish, if you give leave, to follow that path, and find this flower. I believe lives—innocent of anything beyond youth, folly and anger—may hang upon so small a thing.”
“Such things have happened times without number,” said Abbot Radulfus. “Our purpose is justice, and with God lies the privilege of mercy. You have leave, Brother Cadfael, to pursue this as long as may be needful. You have my trust.”
“God knows I value it,” said Cadfael truly. “And you have, and shall have, mine. Whatever I may find, I submit to you.”
“Not to the sheriff?” asked Radulfus, and smiled.
“Surely. But through you, Father.”
Brother Cadfael went to his bed in the dortoir, and slept like an innocent babe safely cradled, until the bell rang for Matins.
7
When Cadfael emerged from Prime, the following morning, Prestcote was already abroad marshalling his renewed hunt on the northern side of the Foregate. This time they would make a great, slow sweep for some three miles out, so exhaustive that barely a weasel or a hare would elude their net. The sheriff was determined to fetter his quarry this time, and reasonably sure that he had not already slipped through the cordon, which had been strengthened overnight. Picard was out with all the men of his household marshalled at his back, and Canon Eudo was probably exhorting Domville’s people at the bishop’s house to the same forced service. And though some, no doubt, turned out reluctantly, nevertheless there is something infectious about the zeal of a hunt, that would have most of these beaters in full cry if ever they scented their quarry.
Not for the first time, Brother Cadfael wished heartily that he had Hugh Beringar here, to temper the chill of Prestcote’s proceedings. The deputy sheriff had room in his head and conscience for healthy doubts of his own omniscience, and was always perversely suspicious of what seemed a foregone conclusion to others. But Hugh Beringar was in the north of the shire, at his own manor of Maesbury, and certainly would not consent to move from there these coming fewweeks, for his wife was near her time with their first child, and that is a peak of experience in any young man’s life. No help for it, this matter would have to be settled under Gilbert Prestcote’s direction. And at that, thought Cadfael fairly, we’re luckier than many a shire. He’s an honest, fair-minded man, if he is too urgent for quick resolutions and summary justice, and not inclined to look too far beyond the obvious. Nevertheless, show him a provable truth, and he’ll accept it. Provable truths are what we need.
Meantime, he took some care over giving Brother Oswin his tasks for the day. Only a week ago, he would have found him enough rough digging and outdoor work to keep him occupied, and prayed heartily that the great maladroit need not even set foot in the workshop. Today he handed over to him some early winter pruning, but also the tending of a batch of wine just beginning to work, and the making of an ointment for the infirmary. They had made the same ointment together once, the process fully explained as they went. Cadfael nobly refrained from repeating and underlining every stage, and left Oswin with only the most modest and trusting recapitulation.