“Can you find the place again?”
“By daylight, yes, I’ll find it. In darkness, no use trying. It will be a fearful thing . . . We shall have to take axes to hew her out of the ice, unless the thaw comes.” It was a forlorn hope, there was no possible sign of a thaw.
“That we’ll face when we come to it,” said Hugh somberly. “Tonight we’d best get the boy’s story out of him, and see if we can gather from it how she ever came where you happened on her. And where, in heaven’s name, is the nun who fled with her?”
“According to Yves, he left her in Cleeton, safe enough. And the girl—poor fool!—he says went off with a lover. But I took him no further into matters, it was towards the end of the day, and the most urgent thing was to get one, at least, into safety.”
“True enough, and you did well. We’ll wait for the prior, and until the boy’s fed and warmed and easy. Then between us we’ll hope to get out of him all he knows, and more, perhaps, than he realizes he knows, without betraying that he’s lost a sister. Though he’ll have to learn it soon or late,” said Hugh unhappily. “Who else knows the poor girl’s face?”
“But not tonight, let him sleep soundly tonight. Time enough,” said Cadfael heavily, “when we’ve brought her in and made her as comely as may be, before he need see her.”
Supper and security had done much for Yves, and his own natural resilience had done even more. He sat in the prior’s parlor before Compline, face to face with Hugh Beringar, and with Prior Leonard and Brother Cadfael in watchful attendance, and told his story with bluntness and brevity.
“She is very brave,” he said judicially, giving his sister her due, “but very obstinate and self-willed. All the way from Worcester I did feel she had something up her sleeve, and was taking advantage of having to run away. We had to go roundabout at first, and slowly, because there were bands of soldiers roaming even miles from the town, so it took us a long time to get safely to Cleobury, and there we stayed one night, and that was the night Brother Elyas was there, too, and he came with us as far as Foxwood, and wanted us to come with him into Bromfield for safety, and I wanted that, too, and so did Sister Hilaria. From here we could have got an escort into Shrewsbury, and it would not have been a much longer way. But Ermina would not have it! She must always have her own way, and she would go on over the hills to Godstoke. No use my arguing, she never listens, she claims that being the elder makes her the wiser. And if we others had gone with Brother Elyas she would still have gone on over the hills alone, so what could we do but go with her?” He blew out his lips in a disgusted breath.
“Certainly you could not leave her,” agreed Beringar reasonably. “So you went on, to spend the next night at Cleeton?”
“It’s close by Cleeton, a solitary holding. Ermina had a nurse once who married a tenant of that manor, so we knew we could get a bed there. The man’s name is John Druel. We got there in the afternoon, and I remembered afterwards that Ermina was talking apart with the son of the house, and then he went away, and we didn’t see him again until evening. I never thought of it then, but now I’m sure she sent him with a message. That was what she intended all along. For a man came late in the evening, with horses, and took her away. I heard the stir, and I got up and looked out . . . Two horses there were, and he was just helping her up into the saddle . . .”
“He?” said Hugh. “You knew him?”
“Not his name, but I do remember him. When my father was alive he used to visit sometimes, if there was hunting, or for Christmas or Easter. Many guests used to come, we always had company. He must be son or nephew to one of my father’s friends. I never paid him much attention, nor he never noticed me, I was too young. But I do remember his face, and I think . . . I think he has been visiting Ermina now and then in Worcester.”
If he had, they must have been very decorous visits, with a sponsoring sister always in attendance.
“You think she sent him word to come and fetch her?” asked Hugh. “This was no abduction? She went willingly?”
“She went gaily!” Yves asserted indignantly. “I heard her laughing. Yes, she sent for him, and he came. And that was why she would go that way, for he must have a manor close by, and she knew she could whistle him to her. She will have a great dower,” said the baron’s heir solemnly, his round, childish cheeks flushing red with outrage. “And my sister would never endure to have her marriage made for her in the becoming way, if it went against her choice. I never knew a rule she would not break, shamelessly . . .”
His chin shook, a weakness instantly and ruthlessly suppressed. All the arrogant pride of all the feudal houses of Anjou and England in this small package, and he loved as much as he hated her, or more, and never, never must he see her mute and violated and stripped to her shift.
Hugh took up the questioning with considerate calm. “And what did you do?” The jolt back into facts was salutary.
“No one else had heard,” said Yves, rallying, “unless it was the boy who carried her message, and he had surely been told not to hear anything. I was still dressed, there being only one bed, which the women had, so I rushed out to try and stop them. Older she may be, but / am my father’s heir! I am the head of our family now.”
“But afoot,” said Hugh, pricking him back to the real and sorry situation, “you could hardly keep their pace. And they were away before you could hale them back to answer to you.”
“No, I couldn’t keep up, but I could follow. It had begun to snow, they left tracks, and I knew they could not be going very far. Far enough to lose me!” he owned, and bit a lip that did not quite know whether to curl up or down. “I followed as long as I could by their tracks, and it was uphill, and the wind rose, and there was so much snow the tracks were soon covered. I couldn’t find the way forward or back. I tried to keep what I thought was the direction they’d taken, but I don’t know how much I may have wandered, or where I went. I was quite lost. All night I was in the forest, and the second night Thurstan found me and took me home with him. Brother Cadfael knows. Thurstan said there were outlaws abroad, and I should stay with him until some safe traveller came by. And so I did. And now I don’t know,” he said, visibly sinking into his proper years, “where Ermina went with her lover, or what has become of Sister Hilaria. She would wake to find the two of us gone, and I don’t know what she would do. But she was with John and his wife, they surely wouldn’t let her come to harm.”
“This man who took your sister away,” pressed Beringar. “You don’t know his name, but you do remember he was acceptable in your father’s house. If he has a manor in the hills, within easy reach of Cleeton, no doubt we can trace him. I take it he might, had your father lived, have been a possible suitor for your sister, even in a more approved fashion?”
“Oh, yes,” said the boy seriously, “I think he well might. There were any number of young men used to come, and Ermina, even when she was only fourteen or fifteen, would ride and hunt with the best of them. They were all men of substance, or heirs to good estates. I never noticed which of them she favored.” He would have been playing with toy warriors and falling off his first pony then, uninterested in sisters and their admirers. “This one is very handsome,” he said generously. “Much fairer than me. And taller than you, sir.” That would not make him a rarity, Beringar’s modest length of steel and sinew had been under-estimated by many a man to his cost. “I think he must be about twenty-five or six. But his name I don’t know. There were so many came visiting to us.”