by Ellis Peters
“We women, we mothers, we sacrifice our lives to bringing up children, and when they’re grown they reward us by bringing disgrace upon us. What did I ever do to deserve this?”
“He’ll do you credit yet,” said Cadfael cheerfully. “Stand by him in his penance, but never try to excuse his sin, and he’ll think the better of you for it.”
That went by her like the wind sighing at the time, though she may have remembered it later. Her voice declined gradually from its injured self-justification, dwindled into a half-dreamy monologue of grief, and took on at length a tone of warm and drowsy complacency, before it lapsed into silence. Cadwallon breathed deep and cautiously, and eyed his advisers.
“I shall call her women and get her to bed,” said Cadfael. “She’ll sleep the night through, and it’ll do her nothing but good.” And you more good still, he thought but did not say. “Let your son rest, too, and never say another word about his trouble but by the way, like any other daily business, unless he speaks up first. Father Huw will take care of him faithfully.”
“I will,” said Huw. “He’s worth our efforts.”
Dame Branwen went amiably where she was led, and the house was wonderfully quiet. Cadfael and Huw went out together, pursued as far as the gate by Cadwallon’s distracted gratitude. When they were well away from the holding, at the end of the stockade, the quietness of the dusk came down on them softly, a cloud descending delicately upon a cloud.
“In time for supper, if not for Vespers,” said Huw wearily. “What should we have done without you, Brother Cadfael? I have no skill at all with women, they confuse me utterly. I marvel how you have learned to deal with them so ably, you, a cloistered brother.”
Cadfael thought of Bianca, and Arianna, and Mariam, and all the others, some known so briefly, all so well.
“Both men and women partake of the same human nature, Huw. We both bleed when we’re wounded. That’s a poor, silly woman, true, but we can show plenty of poor, silly men. There are women as strong as any of us, and as able.” He was thinking of Mariam — or was it of Sioned? “You go to supper, Huw, and hold me excused, and if I can be with you before Compline, I will. I have some business fast at Bened’s smithy.”
The empty phial swung heavily in the pocket in his right sleeve, reminding him. His mind was still busy with the implications. Before ever he reached Bened’s croft he had it clear in his mind what must be done, but was no nearer knowing how to set about it.
Cai was with Bened on the bench under the eaves, with a jug of rough wine between them. They were not talking, only waiting for him to appear, and there could be no reason for that, but that Sioned had told them positively that he would.
“A fine tangle it turns out,” said Bened, shaking his grizzled head. “And now you’ll be off and leave us holding it. No blame to you, you have to go where your duty is. But what are we to do about Rhisiart when you’re gone? There’s more than half this parish thinks your Benedictines have killed him, and the lesser half thinks some enemy here has taken the chance to blame you, and get clean away into cover. We were a peaceful community until you came, nobody looked for murder among us.”
“God knows we never meant to bring it,” said Cadfael. “But there’s still tonight before we go, and I haven’t shot my last bolt yet. 1 must speak with Sioned. We’ve things to do, and not much time for doing them.”
“Drink one cup with us before you go in to her,” insisted Cai. “That takes no time at all, and is a powerful aid to thought.”
They were seated all together, three simple, honest men, and the wine notably lower in the jug, when someone turned in at the gate, light feet came running in great haste along the path, and suddenly there was Annest confronting them, skirts flying and settling about her like wings folding, her breath short and laboured, and excitement and consternation in her face. And ready to be indignant at the very sight of them sitting peacefully drinking wine.
“You’d better stir yourselves,” she said, panting and sparkling. “I’ve been along to Father Huw’s house to see what’s going on there — Marared and Edwin between them have been keeping an eye open for us. Do you know who’s there taking supper with the Benedictines? Griffith ap Rhys, the bailiff! And do you know where he’s bound, afterwards? Up to our house, to take Brother John to prison!”
They were on their feet fast enough at this news, though Bened dared to question it. “He can’t be there! The last I heard of him he was at the mill.”
“And that was this morning, and I tell you now he’s eating and drinking with Prior Robert and the rest. I’ve seen him with my own eyes, so don’t tell me he can’t be there. And here I find you sitting on your hams drinking, as though we had all the time in the world!”
“But why in such a hurry tonight?” persisted Bened. “Did the prior send for him, because he’s wanting to be away tomorrow?”
“The devil was in it! He came to Vespers just by way of compliment to Father Huw, and who should he find celebrating instead but Prior Robert, and the prior seized on it as just the chance he wanted, and has hung on to him and persuaded him Brother John must be taken in charge tonight, for he can’t leave without knowing he’s safely in the hands of the law. He says the bailiff should deal with him for the secular offence of hindering the arrest of a criminal, and when he’s served his penalty he’s to be sent back to Shrewsbury to answer for his defiance of discipline, or else the prior will send an escort to fetch him. And what could the bailiff do but fall in with it, when it was put to him like that? And here you sit — !”
“All right, girl, all right,” said Cai placatingly. “I’m off this minute, and Brother John will be out of there and away to a safe place before ever the bailiff gets near us. I’ll take one of your ponies, Bened….”
“Saddle another for me,” said Annest with determination. “I’m coming with you.”
Cai went off at a jogtrot to the paddock, and Annest, drawing breath more easily now that the worst was told, drank off the wine he had left in his cup, and heaved a huge, resolute sigh.
“We’d better be out of here fast, for that young brother who looks after the horses now will be coining down after supper to get them. The prior means to be there to see John safe bound. ‘There’s time yet before Compline,’ he said. He was complaining of wanting you, too, to interpret for him, they were managing lamely with only Latin between them. Dear God, what a day it’s been!”
And what a night, thought Cadfael, it’s still likely to be. “What else was going on there?” he asked. “Did you hear anything that might give me a light? For heaven knows I need one!”
“They were debating which one of them should watch the night through at the chapel. And that same young fair one, the one who has visions, up and prayed it might be him. He said he’d been unfaithful to his watch once, and longed still to make amends. And the prior said he might. That much I understood myself. All the prior’s thinking about seems to be making all the trouble he can for John,” said Annest resentfully, “or I should think he might have sent somebody else instead. That young brother — what is it you call him?”
“Columbanus,” said Brother Cadfael.
“That’s him, Columbanus! He begins to put on airs as if he owned Saint Winifred. I don’t want her to go away at all, but at least it was the prior who first thought of it, and now if there’s a halo for anybody it’s shifted to this other fellow’s head.”
She did not know it, but she had indeed given Cadfael a light, and with every word she said it burned more steadily. “So he’s to be the one who watches the night through before the altar — and alone, is he?”
“So I heard.” Cai was coming with the ponies, at a gay trot out of the meadow. Annest rose eagerly and kilted her gown, knotting her girdle tightly about the broad pleat she drew up over her hips. “Brother Cadfael, you don’t think it wrong of me to love John? Or of him to love me? I don’t care about the rest of them, but I should be sorry if you thought we were doing something wicked.”
Cai had not bothered with a saddle for himself, but had provided one for her. Quite simply and naturally Brother
Cadfael cupped his hands for her foot, to give her a lift on to the pony’s broad back, and the fresh scent of her linen and the smooth coolness of her ankle against his wrists as she mounted made one of the best moments of that interminably long and chaotic day. “As long a I may live, girl,” he said, “I doubt if I shall ever know two creatures with less wickedness between them. He made a mistake, and there should be provision for everybody to make one fresh start. I don’t think he’s making any mistake this time.”
He watched her ride away, setting an uphill pace to which Cai adapted himself goodhumouredly. They had a fair start, it would be ten minutes or more yet before Columbanus came to fetch the horses, and even then he had to take them back to the parsonage. It might be well to put in an appearance and go with Robert dutifully to interpret his fulminations, too, in which case there was need of haste, for he had now a great deal to say to Sioned, and this night’s moves must be planned thoroughly. He withdrew into the croft as soon as Annest and Cai were out of sight, and Sioned came out of the shadows eagerly to meet him.
“I expected Annest to be here before you. She went to find out what’s happening at Father Huw’s. I thought best to stay out of sight. If people think I’m away home, so much the better. You haven’t seen Annest?”
“I have, and heard all her news,” said Cadfael, and told her what was in the wind, and where Annest was gone. “Never fear for John, they’ll be there well ahead of any pursuit. We have other business, and no time to waste, for I shall be expected to ride with the prior, and it’s as well. I should be there to see fair play. If we manage our business as well as I fancy Cai and Annest will manage theirs, before morning we may know what we want to know.”
“You’ve found out something,” she said with certainty. “You are changed. You are sure!”
He told her briefly all that had happened at Cadwallon’s house, how he had brooded upon it without enlightenment as to how it was to be used, and how Annest in innocence had shown him. Then he told her what he required of her.
“I know you can speak English, you must use it tonight.
This may be a more dangerous trap than any we’ve laid before, but I shall be close by. And you may call in Engelard, too, if he’ll promise to stay close in cover. But, child, if you have any doubts or fears, if you’d rather let be, and have me try some other way, say so now, and so be it.”
“No,” she said, “no doubts and no fears. I can do anything. I dare do anything.”
“Then sit down with me, and learn your part well, for we haven’t long. And while we plan, can I ask you to bring me some bread and a morsel of cheese? For I’ve missed my supper.”
Prior Robert and Brother Richard rode into Rhisiart’s yard with the prince’s bailiff between them, his two henchmen and Brother Cadfael close behind, at about half past seven, in a mild twilight, with all the unhurried ceremony of the law, rather as if Griffith ap Rhys held his commission from Saint Benedict, and not from Owain Gwynedd. The bailiff was, in fact, more than a little vexed at this unfortunate encounter, which had left him no alternative but to comply with Robert’s demands. An offence against Welsh law was alleged, and had been reported to him, and he was obliged to investigate it, where, considering the circumstances, he would much have preferred to pack all the Benedictine delegation back to Shrewsbury, and let them sort out their own grudges there, without bothering a busy man who had plenty of more important things on his mind. Unhappily Cadwallon’s villein, the long-legged fellow who had been brought down by Brother John, had given vociferous evidence in support of the accusation, or it would have been easier to ignore it.
There was no one on duty at the gate, which was strange, and as they rode in, a number of people seemed to be running hither and thither in a distracted way, as if something unforeseen had happened, and confused and conflicting orders were being given from several authorities at once. No groom ran to attend to them, either. Prior Robert was displeased. Griffith ap Rhys was mildly and alertly interested. When someone did take notice of them, it was a very handsome young person in a green gown, who came running with her skirts gathered in her hands, and her light-brown hair slipping out of its glossy coil to her shoulders.
“Oh, sirs, you must excuse us this neglect, we’ve been so disturbed! The gate-keeper was called away to help, and all the grooms are hunting…. But I’m ashamed to let our troubles cast a shadow over our hospitality. My lady’s resting, and can’t be disturbed, but I’m at your service. Will it please you light down? Shall I have lodgings made ready?”
“We don’t propose to stay,” said Griffith ap Rhys, already suspecting this artless goodwill, and approving the way she radiated it. “We came to relieve you of a certain young malefactor you’ve had in hold here. But it seems you’ve suffered some further calamity, and we should be sorry to add to your troubles, or disturb your lady, after the grievous day she’s endured.”
“Madam,” said Prior Robert, civilly but officiously, “you are addressing the prince’s bailiff of Rhos, and I am the prior of Shrewsbury abbey. You have a brother of that abbey in confinement here, the royal bailiff is come to relieve you of his care.”
All of which Cadfael duly and solemnly translated for Annest’s benefit, his face as guileless as hers.
“Oh, sir!” She opened her eyes wide and curtseyed deeply to Griffith and cursorily to the prior, separating her own from the alien. “It’s true we had such a brother here a prisoner….”
“Had?” said Robert sharply, for once detecting the change of tense.
“Had?” said Griffith thoughtfully.
“He’s gone, sir! You see what confusion he’s left behind. This evening, when his keeper took him his supper, this brother struck him down with a board torn loose from the manger in this prison, and dropped the bolt on him and slipped away. It was some time before we knew. He must have climbed the wall, you see it is not so high. We have men out now looking for him in the woods, and searching everywhere here within. But I fear he’s clean gone!”
Cai made his entrance at the perfect time, issuing from one of the barns with shaky steps, his head wreathed in a white cloth lightly dabbled with red.
“The poor man, the villain broke his head for him! It was some time before he could drag himself to the door and hammer on it, and make himself heard. There’s no knowing how far the fellow may have got by now. But the whole household is out hunting for him.”
The bailiff, as in duty bound, questioned Cai, but gently and briefly, questioned all the other servants, who ran to make themselves useful and succeeded only in being magnificently confusing. And Prior Robert, burning with vengeful zeal, would have pressed them more strenuously but for the bailiff’s presence and obvious prior right, and the brevity of the time at his disposal if he was to get back for Compline. In any case, it was quite clear that Brother John was indeed over the wall and clean gone. Most willingly they showed the place where he had been confined, and the manger from which he had ripped the board, and the board itself, artistically spattered at one end with spots of Cai’s gore, though it may, of course, have been pigment borrowed from the butcher.
“It seems your young man has given us all the slip,” said Griffith, with admirable serenity for a man of law who has lost a malefactor. “There’s nothing more to be done here. They could hardly expect such violence from a Benedictine brother, it’s no blame to them.”
With considerable pleasure Cadfael translated that neat little stab. It kindled a spark in the speaking eyes of the young person in green, and Griffith did not miss it. But to challenge it would have been folly. The clear brown eyes would have opened wide enough and deep enough to drown a man in their innocence. “We’d best leave them in peace to mend their broken mangers and broken heads,” said Griffith, “and look elsewhere for our fugitive.”
“The wretch compounds his offences,” said Robert, furiou
s. “But I cannot allow his villainy to disrupt my mission. I must set out for home tomorrow, and leave his capture to you.”
“You may trust me to deal properly with him,” said Griffith drily, “when he is found.” If he laid the slightest of emphasis on the “when”, no one appeared to remark it but Cadfael and Annest. By this time Annest was quite satisfied that she liked this princely official, and could trust him to behave like a reasonable man who is not looking for trouble, or trying to make it for others as harmless as himself.
“And you will restore him to our house when he has purged his offences under Welsh law?”
“When he has done so,” said Griffith, decidedly with some stress this time on the “when”, “you shall certainly have him back.”
With that Prior Robert had to be content, though his Norman spirit burned at being deprived of its rightful victim. And on the ride back he was by no means placated by Griffith’s tales of the large numbers of fugitive outlaws who had found no difficulty in living wild in these forests, and even made friends among the country people, and been accepted into families, and even into respectability at last. It galled his orderly mind to think of insubordination mellowing with time and being tolerated and condoned. He was in no very Christian mood when he swept into Father Huw’s church, only just in time for Compline.
They were all there but Brother John, the remaining five brethren from Shrewsbury and a good number of the people of Gwytherin, to witness the last flowering of Brother Columbanus’ devotional gift of ecstasy, now dedicated entirely to Saint Winifred, his personal patroness who had healed him of madness, favoured him with her true presence in a dream, and made known her will through him in the matter of Rhisiart’s burial. For at the end of Compline, rising to go to his self-chosen vigil, Columbanus turned to the altar, raised his arms in a sweeping gesture, and prayed aloud in a high, clear voice that the virgin martyr would deign to visit him once more in his holy solitude, in the silence of the night, and reveal to him again the inexpressible bliss from which he had returned so reluctantly to this imperfect world. And more, that this time, if she found him worthy of translation out of the body, she would take him up living into that world of light. Humbly he submitted his will to endure here below, and do his duty in the estate assigned him, but rapturously he sent his desire soaring to the timber roof, to be uplifted out of the flesh, transported through death without dying, if he was counted ready for the assumption.
