by Ellis Peters
*
It was mid-afternoon, and Cadfael was picking over the stored trays of apples and pears in the loft of the abbot’s barn, discarding the few decayed specimens before they could infect their neighbours, when Brother Mark came hallooing for him from below.
“The sheriff’s man is back,” he reported, when Cadfael peered down the ladder at him and demanded what the noise was about, “and asking for you. And they’ve not captured their man—if it’s any news I’m telling you.”
“It’s no good news that I should be wanted,” admitted Cadfael, descending the ladder backwards, as nimbly as a boy. “What’s his will? Or his humour, at least?”
“No menace to you, I think,” said Mark, considering. “Vexed at not laying his hands on the boy, naturally, but I think his mind’s on small things like the level of that rubbing oil in your store. He asked me if I could tell if any had been removed from there, but I’m a slipshod hand who notices nothing, as you’ll bear witness. He thinks you’ll know to the last drop.”
“Then he’s the fool. It takes a mere mouthful or two of that to kill, and in a container too wide to get the fingers of both hands around, and tall as a stool, who’s to know if ten times that amount has been purloined? But let’s at least pick his brains of what he’s about now, and how far he thinks he has his case proven.”
In the workshop the sheriff’s sergeant was poking his bushy beard and hawk’s beak into all Cadfael’s sacks and jars and pots in somewhat wary curiosity. If he had brought an escort with him this time, he must have left them in the great court or at the gatehouse.
“You may yet be able to help us, brother,” he said as Cadfael entered. “It would be a gain to know from which supply of this oil of yours the poison was taken, but the young brother here can’t say if any is missing from this store. Can you be more forthcoming?”
“On that point,” said Cadfael bluntly, “no. The amount needed would be very small, and my stock, as you see, is large. No one could pretend to say with certainty whether any had been taken out unlawfully. This I can tell you, I examined the neck and stopper of this bottle yesterday, and there is no trace of oil at the lip. I doubt if a thief in haste would stop to wipe the lip clean before stoppering it, as I do.”
The sergeant nodded, partially satisfied that this accorded with what he believed. “It’s more likely it was taken from the infirmary, then. And that’s a smaller flask by much than this, but I’ve been there, and they can none of them hazard an opinion. Among the old the oil is in favoured use now, who can guess if it was used one more time without lawful reason?”
“You’ve made little progress, I fear,” said Brother Cadfael.
“We have not caught our man, yet. No knowing where Edwin Gurney is hiding, but there’s been no trace of him round Bellecote’s shop, and the carpenter’s horse is in its stable. I’d wager the boy is still somewhere within the town. We’re watching the shop and the gates, and keeping an eye on his mother’s house. It is but a matter of time before we take him.”
Cadfael sat back on his bench and spread his hands on his knees. “You’re very sure of him. Yet there are at least four others who were there in the house, and any number more who, for one reason or another, know the use and abuse of this preparation. Oh, I know the weight of the case you can make against this boy. I could make as good a case against one or two more, but that I won’t do. I’d rather by far consider those factors that might provide, not suspicion, but proof, and not against one chosen quarry, but against the person, whoever he may be, towards whom the facts point. The time concerned is tight, half an hour at most. I myself saw the manservant fetch the dishes from the abbot’s kitchen, and carry them out at the gate. Unless we are to look seriously at those who serve the abbot’s kitchen, the dish was still harmless when it left our enclave. I don’t say,” he added blandly, “that you should, because we wear the cowl, write off any man of us as exempt from suspicion, myself included.”
The sergeant was intelligent, though not impressed. “Then what limiting factors, what firm facts, do you refer to, brother?”
“I mentioned to you yesterday, and if you care to sniff at that bottle, and try a drop of it on your sleeve, you’ll note for yourself, that it makes itself apparent both to the nose and eye. You would not easily wash out the greasy mark from cloth, nor get rid of the smell. It is not the wolfsbane that smells so sharp and acrid, there’s also mustard and other herbs. Whoever you seize upon, you must examine his clothing for these signs. I don’t say it’s proof of innocence if no such signs are found, but it does weaken the evidence of guilt.”
“You are interesting, brother,” said the sergeant, “but not convincing.”
“Then consider this. Whoever had used that poison would be in haste to get rid of the bottle as soon as possible, and as cleanly. If he lingered, he would have to hide it about him, and risk marking himself, or even having it discovered on him. You will conduct your business as you see fit. But I, were I in your shoes, would be looking very carefully for a small vial, anywhere within a modest distance of that house, for when you find it, the place where it was discarded will tell a great deal about the person who could have cast it there.” And with certainty he added: “You’ll be in no doubt of it being the right vial.”
He did not at all like the expression of indulgent complacency that was creeping over the sergeant’s weathered countenance, as though he enjoyed a joke that presently, when he chose to divulge it, would quite take the wind out of Cadfael’s sails. He himself admitted he had not captured his man, but there was certainly some other secret satisfaction he was hugging to his leather bosom.
“You have not found it already?” said Cadfael cautiously.
“Not found it, no. Nor looked for it very hard. But for all that, I know where it is. Small use looking now, and in any case, no need.” And now he was openly grinning.
“I take exception to that,” said Cadfael firmly. “if you have not found it, you cannot know where it is, you can only surmise, which is not the same thing.”
“It’s as near the same thing as we’re likely to get,” said the sergeant, pleased with his advantage. “For your little vial has gone floating down the Severn, and may never be seen again, but we know it was tossed in there, and we know who tossed it. We’ve not been idle since we left here yesterday, I can tell you, and we’ve done more than simply pursue a young fox and lose his trail a while. We’ve taken witness from any we could find who were moving about the bridge and the Foregate around the dinner hour, and saw Bonel’s manservant running after the boy. We found a carter who was crossing the bridge just at that time. Such a chase, he pulled up his cart, thinking there was a hue and cry after a thief, but when the boy had run past him he saw the pursuer give up the chase, short of the bridge, for he had no chance of overtaking his quarry. The one shrugged and turned back, and when the carter turned to look after the other he saw him slow in his running for a moment, and hurl some small thing over the downstream parapet into the water. It was young Gurney, and no other, who had something to dispose of, as soon as possible after he’d tipped its contents into the dish for his stepfather, given the spoon a whirl or two, and rushed away with the bottle in his hand. And what do you say to that, my friend?”
What, indeed? The shock was severe, for not one word had Edwin said about this incident, and for a moment Cadfael did seriously consider that he might have been hoodwinked for once by a cunning little dissembler. Yet cunning was the last thing he would ever have found in that bold, pugnacious face. He rallied rapidly, and without betraying his disquiet.
“I say that ‘some small thing’ is not necessarily a vial. Did you put it to your carter that it might have been that?”
“I did, and he would not say yes or no, only that whatever it was was small enough to hold in the closed hand, and flashed in the light as it flew. He would not give it a shape or a character more than that.”
“You had an honest witness. Now can you tell me two things more f
rom his testimony. At exactly what point on the bridge was the boy when he threw it? And did the manservant also see it thrown?”
“My man says the fellow running after had halted and turned back, and only then did he look round and catch the other one in the act. The servant could not have seen. And as for where the lad was at that moment, he said barely halfway across the drawbridge.”
That meant that Edwin had hurled away whatever it was as soon as he felt sure he was above the water, clear of the bank and the shore, for it was the outer section of the bridge that could be raised. And at that, he might have miscalculated and been in too big a hurry. The bushes and shelving slope under the abutments ran well out below the first arch. There was still a chance that whatever had been discarded could be recovered, if it had fallen short of the current. It seemed, also, that Aelfric had not concealed this detail, for he had not witnessed it.
“Well,” said Cadfael, “by your own tale the boy had just gone running past a halted cart, with a driver already staring at him, and no doubt, at that hour, several other people within view, and made no secret of getting rid of whatever it was he threw. Nothing furtive about that. Hardly the way a murderer would go about disposing of the means, to my way of thinking. What do you say?”
The sergeant hitched at his belt and laughed aloud. “I say you make as good a devil’s advocate as ever I’ve heard. But lads in a panic after a desperate deed don’t stop to think. And if it was not the vial he heaved into the Severn, you tell me, brother, what was it?” And he strode out into the chill of the early evening air, and left Cadfael to brood on the same question.
Brother Mark, who had made himself inconspicuous in a corner all this time, but with eyes and ears wide and sharp for every word and look, kept a respectful silence until Cadfael stirred at length, and moodily thumped his knees with clenched fists. Then he said, carefully avoiding questions: “There’s still an hour or so of daylight left before Vespers. If you think it’s worth having a look below the bridge there?”
Brother Cadfael had almost forgotten the young man was present, and turned a surprised and appreciative eye on him.
“So there is! And your eyes are younger than mine. The two of us might at least cover the available ground. Yes, come, for better or worse we’ll venture.”
Brother Mark followed eagerly across the court, out at the gatehouse, and along the highroad towards the bridge and the town. A flat, leaden gleam lay over the mill-pond on their left, and the house beyond it showed only a closed and shuttered face. Brother Mark stared at it curiously as they passed. He had never seen Mistress Bonel, and knew nothing of the old ties that linked her with Cadfael, but he knew when his mentor and friend was particularly exercised on someone else’s behalf, and his own loyalty and partisan fervour, after his church, belonged all to Cadfael. He was busy thinking out everything he had heard in the workshop, and making practical sense of it. As they turned aside to the right, down the sheltered path that led to the riverside and the main gardens of the abbey, ranged along the rich Severn meadows, he said thoughtfully:
“I take it, brother, that what we are looking for must be small, and able to take the light, but had better not be a bottle?”
“You may take it,” said Cadfael, sighing, “that whether it is or not, we must try our best to find it. But I would very much rather find something else, something as innocent as the day.”
Just beneath the abutments of the bridge, where it was not worth while clearing the ground for cultivation, bushes grew thickly, and coarse grass sloped down gradually to the lip of the water. They combed the tufted turf along the edge, where a filming of ice prolonged the ground by a few inches, until the light failed them and it was time to hurry back for Vespers; but they found nothing small, relatively heavy, and capable of reflecting a flash of light as it was thrown, nothing that could have been the mysterious something tossed away by Edwin in his flight.
*
Cadfael slipped away after supper, absenting himself from the readings in the chapter-house, helped himself to the end of a loaf and a hunk of cheese, and a flask of small ale for his fugitive, and made his way discreetly to the loft over the abbey barn in the horse-fair. The night was clear overhead but dark, for there was no moon as yet. By morning the ground would be silvered over, and the shore of Severn extended by a new fringe of ice.
His signal knock at the door at the head of the stairs produced only a profound silence, which he approved. He opened the door and went in, closing it silently behind him. In the darkness within nothing existed visibly, but the warm, fresh scent of the clean hay stirred in a faint wave, and an equally quiet rustling showed him where the boy had emerged from his nest to meet him. He moved a step towards the sound. “Be easy, it’s Cadfael.”
“I knew,” said Edwin’s voice very softly. “I knew you’d come.”
“Was it a long day?”
“I slept most of it.”
“That’s my stout heart! Where are you…? Ah!” They moved together, uniting two faint warmths that made a better warmth between them; Cadfael touched a sleeve, found a welcoming hand. “Now let’s sit down and be blunt and brief, for time’s short. But we may as well be comfortable with what we have. And here’s food and drink for you.” Young hands, invisible, clasped his offerings gladly. They felt their way to a snug place in the hay, side by side.
“Is there any better news for me?” asked Edwin anxiously.
“Not yet. What I have for you, young man, is a question. Why did you leave out half the tale?”
Edwin sat up sharply beside him, in the act of biting heartily into a crust of bread. “But I didn’t! I told you the truth. Why should I keep anything from you, when I came asking for your help?”
“Why, indeed! Yet the sheriff’s men have had speech with a certain carter who was crossing the bridge from Shrewsbury when you went haring away from your mother’s house, and he testifies that he saw you heave something over the parapet into the river. Is that true?”
Without hesitation the boy said: “Yes!” his voice a curious blend of bewilderment, embarrassment and anxiety. Cadfael had the impression that he was even blushing in the darkness, and yet obviously with no sense of guilt at having left the incident unmentioned, rather as though a purely private folly of his own had been accidentally uncovered.
“Why did you not tell me that yesterday? I might have had a better chance of helping you if I’d known.”
“I don’t see why.” He was a little sullen and on his dignity now, but wavering and wondering. “It didn’t seem to have anything to do with what happened… and I wanted to forget it. But I’ll tell you now, if it does matter. It isn’t anything bad.”
“It matters very much, though you couldn’t have known that when you threw it away.” Better tell him the reason now, and show that by this examiner, at least, he was not doubted. “For what you sent over the parapet, my lad, is being interpreted by the sheriff’s man as the bottle that held the poison, newly emptied by you before you ran out of the house, and disposed of in the river. So now, I think, you had better tell me what it really was, and I’ll try to convince the law they are on the wrong scent, over that and everything else.”
The boy sat very still, not stunned by this blow, which was only one more in a beating which had already done its worst and left him still resilient. He was very quick in mind, he saw the implications, for himself and for Brother Cadfael. Slowly he said: “And you don’t need first to be convinced?”
“No. For a moment I may have been shaken, but not longer. Now tell me!”
“I didn’t know! How could I know what was going to happen?” He drew breath deeply, and some of the tension left the arm and shoulder that leaned confidingly into Cadfael’s side, “No one else knew about it, I hadn’t said a word to Meurig, and I never got so far as to show it even to my mother—I never had the chance. You know I’m learning to work in wood, and in fine metals, too, a little, and I had to show that I meant to be good at what I did. I made a p
resent for my stepfather. Not because I liked him,” he made haste to add, with haughty honesty, “I didn’t! But my mother was unhappy about our quarrel, and it had made him hard and ill-tempered even to her—he never used to be, he was fond of her, I know. So I made a present as a peace offering… and to show I should make a craftsman, too, and be able to earn my living without him. He had a relic he valued greatly, he bought it in Walsingham when he was on pilgrimage, a long time ago. It’s supposed to be a piece of Our Lady’s mantle, from the hem, but I don’t believe it’s true. But he believed it. It’s a slip of blue cloth as long as my little finger, with a gold thread in the edge, and it’s wrapped in a bit of gold. He paid a lot of money for it, I know. So I thought I would make him a little reliquary just the right size for it, a little box with a hinge. I made it from pearwood, and jointed and polished it well, and inlaid the lid with a little picture of Our Lady in nacre and silver, and blue stone for the mantle. I think it was not bad.” The light- ache in his voice touched Brother Cadfael’s relieved heart; he had loved his work and destroyed it, he was entitled to grieve.
“And you took it with you to give to him yesterday?” he asked gently.
“Yes.” He bit that off short. Cadfael remembered how he had been received, according to Richildis, when he made his difficult, courageous appearance at their table, his gift secreted somewhere upon him.
“And you had it in your hand when he drove you out of the house with his malice. I see how it could happen.”
The boy burst out bitterly, shivering with resentment still: “He said I’d come to crawl to him for my manor… he taunted me, and if I kneeled to him… How could I offer him a gift, after that? He would have taken it as proof positive… I couldn’t bear that! It was meant to be a gift, without any asking.”
