The Devil's Novice bc-8

by Ellis Peters

  ‘Happened, indeed! You said I might pull down the thunderbolt. I have found something,’ she said, rapid and low in his ear, ‘in Roswitha’s jewel box. Hidden at the bottom. A great ring-brooch, very old and fine, in gold and silver and enamels, the kind men made long before ever the Normans came. As big as the palm of my hand, with a long pin. When she saw what I had, she came and thrust it back into the box and closed the lid, saying that was too heavy and old-fashioned to wear. So I let it pass, and never said word of what I knew. I doubt if she understands what it is, or how whoever gave it to her came by it, though I think he must have warned her not to wear or show it, not yet… Why else should she be so quick to put it out of my sight? Or else simply she doesn’t like it-I suppose it might be no more than that. But I know what it is and where it came from, and so will you when I tell you…’ She had run out of breath in her haste, and panted soft warmth against his cheek, leaning close. ‘I have seen it before, as she may not have done. It was I who took the cloak from him and carried it within, to the chamber we made ready for him. Fremund brought in his saddle-bags, the cloak I carried… and this brooch was pinned in the collar.’ Cadfael laid a hand over the small hand that gripped his sleeve, and asked, half-doubting, half-convinced already: ‘Whose cloak? Are you saying this thing belonged to Peter Clemence?’ ‘I am saying it. I will swear it.’ ‘You are sure it must be the same?’ ‘I am sure. I tell you I carried it in, I touched, I admired it.’ ‘No, there could not well be two such,’ he said, and drew breath deep. ‘Of such rare things I doubt there were ever made two alike.’ ‘Even if there were, why should both wander into this shire? But no, surely every one was made for a prince or a chief and never repeated. My grandsire had such a brooch, but not near so fine and large, he said it came from Ireland, long ago. Besides, I remember the very colours and the strange beasts. It is the same. And she has it!’ She had a new thought, and voiced it eagerly. ‘Canon Eluard is still here, he knew the cross and ring, he will surely know this, and he can swear to it. But if that fails, so can I, and I will. Tomorrow-how must we deal tomorrow? For Hugh Beringar is not here to be told, and the time so short. It rests with us. Tell me what I can best do?’ ‘So I will,’ said Cadfael slowly, his hand firm over hers, ‘when you have told me one more most vital thing. This brooch-it is whole and clean? No stain, no discolouration anywhere upon it, on metals or enamels? Not even thin edges where such discolourings may have been cleaned away?’ ‘No!’ said Isouda after a sudden brief silence, and drew in understanding breath. ‘I had not thought of that! No, it is as it was made, bright and perfect. Not like the others…No, this has not been through the fire.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE.

  The wedding day dawned clear, bright and very cold. A flake or two of frozen snow, almost too fine to be seen but stinging on the cheek, greeted Isouda as she crossed the court for Prime, but the sky was so pure and lofty that it seemed there would be no fall. Isouda prayed earnestly and bluntly, rather demanding help from heaven than entreating it. From the church she went to the stableyard, to give orders that her groom should go with her horse and bring Meriet at the right time, with Mark in attendance, to see his brother married. Then she went to dress Roswitha, braid her hair and dress it high with the silver combs and gilt net, fasten the yellow necklace about her throat, walk round her and twitch every fold into place. Uncle Leoric, whether avoiding this cloistered abode of women or grimly preoccupied with the divergent fortunes of his two sons, made no appearance until it was time for him to proceed to his place in the church, but Wulfric Linde hovered in satisfied admiration of his daughter’s beauty, and did not seem to find this over-womaned air hard to breathe. Isouda had a mild, tolerant regard for him; a silly kind man, competent at getting good value out of a manor, and reasonable with his tenants and villeins, but seldom looking beyond, and always the last to know what his children or neighbours were about.

  Somewhere, at this same time, Janyn and Nigel were certainly engaged in the same archaic dance, making the bridegroom ready for what was at the same time triumph and sacrifice.

  Wulfric studied the set of Roswitha’s bliaut, and turned her about fondly to admire her from every angle. Isouda withdrew to the press, and let them confer contentedly, totally absorbed, while she fished up by touch, from the bottom of the casket, the ancient ring-brooch that had belonged to Peter Clemence, and secured it by the pin in her wide over-sleeve.

  The young groom Edred arrived at Saint Giles with two horses, in good time to bring Meriet and Brother Mark to the dim privacy within the church before the invited company assembled. In spite of his natural longing to see his brother wed, Meriet had shrunk from being seen to be present, an accused felon as he was, and a shame to his father’s house. So he had said when Isouda promised him access, and assured him that Hugh Beringar would allow the indulgence and accept his prisoner’s sworn word not to take advantage of such clemency; the scruple had suited Isouda’s purpose then and was even more urgently welcome now. He need not make himself known to anyone, and no one should recognise or even notice him. Edred would bring him early, and he could be safely installed in a dim corner of the choir before ever the guests came in, some withdrawn place where he could see and not be seen. And when the married pair left, and the guests after them, then he could follow unnoticed and return to his prison with his gentle gaoler, who was necessary as friend, prop in case of need, and witness, though Meriet knew nothing of the need there might well be of informed witnesses.

  ‘And the lady of Foriet orders me,’ said Edred cheerfully, ‘to tether the horses outside the precinct, ready for when you want to return. Outside the gatehouse I’ll hitch them, there are staples there, and you may take your time until the rest have gone in, if you so please. You won’t mind, brothers, if I take an hour or so free while you’re within? There’s a sister of mine has a house along the Foregate, a small cot for her and her man.’ There was also a girl he fancied, in the hovel next door, but that he did not feel it necessary to say.

  Meriet came forth from the barn strung taut like an overtuned lute, his cowl drawn forward to hide his face. He had discarded his stick, except when overtired at the end of the day, but he still went a little lame on his sprained foot. Mark kept close at his elbow, watching the sharp, lean profile that was honed even finer by the dark backcloth of the cowl, a face lofty-browed, high-nosed, fastidious.

  ‘Should I so intrude upon him?’ wondered Meriet, his voice thin with pain. ‘He has not asked after me,’ he said, aching, and turned his face away, ashamed of so complaining.

  ‘You should and you must,’ said Mark firmly. ‘You promised the lady, and she has put herself out to make your visit easy. Now let her groom mount you, you have not yet the full use of that foot, you cannot spring.’ Meriet gave way, consenting to borrow a hand to get into the saddle. ‘And that’s her own riding horse you have there,’ said Edred, looking up proudly at the tall young gelding. ‘And a stout little horsewoman she is, and thinks the world of him. There’s not many she’d let into a saddle on that back, I can tell you.’ It occurred to Meriet, somewhat late, to wonder if he was not trying Brother Mark too far, in enforcing him to clamber aboard a beast strange and possibly fearsome to him. He knew so little of this small, tireless brother, only what he was, not at all what he had been aforetime, nor how long he had worn the habit; there were those children of the cloister who had been habited from infancy. But Brother Mark set foot briskly enough in the stirrup, and hoisted his light weight into the saddle without either grace or difficulty.

  ‘I grew up on a well-farmed yardland,’ he said, noting Meriet’s wide eye. ‘I have had to do with horses from an infant, not your high-bred stock, but farm-drudges. I plod like them, but I can stay up, and I can get my beast where he must go. I began very early,’ he said, remembering long hours half-asleep and sagging in the fields, a small hand clutching the stones in his bag, to sling at the crows along the furrow.

  They went out along the Foregate thus, two mounted brothers of
the Benedictines with a young groom trotting alongside. The winter morning was young, but the human traffic was already brisk, husbandmen out to feed their winter stock, housewives shopping, late packmen humping their packs, children running and playing, everybody quick to make use of a fine morning, where daylight was in any case short, and fine mornings might be few. As brothers of the abbey, they exchanged greetings and reverences all along the way.

  They lighted down before the gatehouse, and left the horses with Edred to bestow as he had said. Here in the precinct where he had sought entry, for whatever reason of his own and counter-reason of his father’s, Meriet hung irresolute, trembling, if Mark had not taken him by the arm and drawn him within. Through the great court, busy enough but engrossed, they made their way into the blessed dimness and chill of the church, and if any noticed them they never wondered at two brothers going cowled and in a hurry on such a frosty morning.

  Edred, whistling, tethered the horses as he had said he would, and went off to visit his sister and the girl next door.

  Hugh Beringar, not a wedding guest, was nevertheless as early on the scene as were Meriet and Mark, nor did he come alone. Two of his officers loitered unobtrusively among the shifting throng in the great court, where a number of the curious inhabitants of the Foregate had added themselves to the lay servants, boys and novices, and the various birds of passage lodged in the common hall. Cold though it might be, they intended to see all there was to be seen. Hugh kept out of sight in the anteroom of the gatehouse, where he could observe without himself being observed. Here he had within his hand all those who had been closest to the death of Peter Clemence. If this day’s ferment did not cast up anything fresh, then both Leoric and Nigel must be held to account, and made to speak out whatever they knew.

  In compliment to a generous patron of the abbey, Abbot Radulfus himself had elected to conduct the marriage service, and that ensured that his guest Canon Eluard should also attend. Moreover, the sacrament would be at the high altar, not the parish altar, since the abbot was officiating, and the choir monks would all be in their places. That severed Hugh from any possibility of a word in advance with Cadfael. A pity, but they knew each other well enough by now to act in alliance even without prearrangement.

  The leisurely business of assembly had begun already, guests crossed from hall to church by twos and threes, in their best. A country gathering, not a court one, but equally proud and of lineage as old or older. Compassed about with a great cloud of witnesses, equally Saxon and Norman, Roswitha Linde would go to her bridal. Shrewsbury had been given to the great Earl Roger almost as soon as Duke William became king, but many a manor in the outlying countryside had remained with its old lord, and many a come-lately Norman lordling had had the sense to take a Saxon wife, and secure his gains through blood older than his own, and a loyalty not due to himself.

  The interested crowd shifted and murmured, craning to get the best view of the passing guests. There went Leoric Aspley, and there his son Nigel, that splendid young man, decked out to show him at his best, and Janyn Linde in airy attendance, his amused and indulgent smile appropriate enough in a good-natured bachelor assisting at another young man’s loss of liberty. That meant that all the guests should now be in their places. The two young men halted at the door of the church and took their stand there.

  Roswitha came from the guesthall swathed in her fine blue cloak, for her gown was light for a winter morning. No question but she was beautiful, Hugh thought, watching her sail down the stone steps on Wulfric’s plump, complacent arm. Cadfael had reported her as quite unable to resist drawing all men after her, even elderly monks of no attraction or presence. She had the audience of her life now, lined up on either side of her unhurried passage to the church, gaping in admiration. And in her it seemed as innocent and foolish as an over-fondness for honey. To be jealous of her would be absurd.

  Isouda Foriet, demure in eclipse behind such radiance, walked after the bride, bearing her gilded prayer-book and ready to attend on her at the church door, where Wulfric lifted his daughter’s hand from his own arm, and laid it in the eager hand Nigel extended to receive it. Bride and groom entered the church porch together, and there Isouda lifted the warm mantle from Roswitha’s shoulders and folded it over her own arm, and so followed the bridal pair into the dim nave of the church.

  Not at the parish altar of Holy Cross, but at the high altar of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, Nigel Aspley and Roswitha Linde were made man and wife.

  Nigel made his triumphal way from the church by the great west door which lay just outside the enclave of the abbey, close beside the gatehouse. He had Roswitha ceremoniously by the hand, and was so blind and drunk with his own pride of possession that it was doubtful if he was aware even of Isouda herself standing in the porch, let alone of the cloak she spread in her hands and draped over Roswitha’s shoulders, as bride and groom reached the chill brightness of the frosty noon outside. After them streamed the proud fathers and gratified guests; and if Leone’s face was unwontedly grey and sombre for such an occasion, no one seemed to remark it; he was at all times an austere man.

  Nor did Roswitha notice the slight extra weight on her left shoulder of an ornament intended for a man’s wear. Her eyes were fixed only on the admiring crowd that heaved and sighed with approbation at sight of her. Here outside the wall the throng had grown, since everyone who had business or a dwelling along the Foregate had come to stare. Not here, thought Isouda, following watchfully, not here will there be any response, here all those who might recognise the brooch are walking behind her, and Nigel is as oblivious as she. Only when they turn in again at the gatehouse, having shown themselves from the parish door, will there be anyone to take heed. And if Canon Eluard fails me, she thought resolutely, then I shall speak out, my word against hers or any man’s.

  Roswitha was in no hurry; her progress down the steps, across the cobbles of the forecourt to the gateway and so within to the great court, was slow and stately, so that every man might stare his fill. That was a blessed chance, for in the meantime Abbot Radulfus and Canon Eluard had left the church by transept and cloister, and stood to watch benevolently by the stair to the guesthall, and the choir monks had followed them out to disperse and mingle with the fringes of the crowd, aloof but interested.

  Brother Cadfael made his way unobtrusively to a post close to where the abbot and his guest stood, so that he could view the advancing pair as they did. Against the heavy blue cloth of Roswitha’s cloak the great brooch, aggressively male, stood out brilliantly. Canon Eluard had broken off short in the middle of some quiet remark in the abbot’s ear, and his beneficent smile faded, and gave place to a considering and intent frown, as though at this slight distance his vision failed to convince him he was seeing what indeed he saw.

  ‘But that…’ he murmured, to himself rather than to any other. ‘But no, how can it be?’ Bride and groom drew close, and made dutiful reverence to the dignitaries of the church. Behind them came Isouda, Leoric, Wulfric, and all the assembly of their guests. Under the arch of the gatehouse Cadfael saw Janyn’s fair head and flashing blue eyes, as he loitered to exchange a word with someone in the Foregate crowd known to him, and then came on with his light, springing step, smiling.

  Nigel was handing his wife to the first step of the stone stairway when Canon Eluard stepped forward and stood between, with an arresting motion of his hand. Only then, following his fixed gaze, did Roswitha look down at the collar of her cloak, which swung loose on her shoulders, and see the glitter of enamelled colours and the thin gold outlines of fabulous beasts, entwined with sinuous leaves.

  ‘Child,’ said Eluard, ‘may I look more closely?’ He touched the raised threads of gold, and the silver head of the pin. She watched in wary silence, startled and uneasy, but not yet defensive or afraid. ‘That is a beautiful and rare thing you have there,’ said the canon, eyeing her with a slight, uncertain frown. ‘Where did you get it?’ Hugh had come forth from the gatehouse and was watching an
d listening from the rear of the crowd. At the corner of the cloister two habited brothers watched from a distance. Pinned here between the watchers round the west door and the gathering now halted inexplicably here in the great court, and unwilling to be noticed by either, Meriet stood stiff and motionless in shadow, with Brother Mark beside him, and waited to return unseen to his prison and refuge.

  Roswitha moistened her lips, and said with a pale smile: ‘It was a gift to me from a kinsman.’ ‘Strange!’ said Eluard, and turned to the abbot with a grave face. ‘My lord abbot, I know this brooch well, too well ever to mistake it. It belonged to the bishop of Winchester, and he gave it to Peter Clemence-to that favoured clerk of his household whose remains now lie in your chapel.’ Brother Cadfael had already noted one remarkable circumstance. He had been watching Nigel’s face ever since that young man had first looked down at the adornment that was causing so much interest, and until this moment there had been no sign whatever that the brooch meant anything to him. He was glancing from Canon Eluard to Roswitha, and back again, a puzzled frown furrowing his broad forehead and a faint, questioning smile on his lips, waiting for someone to enlighten him. But now that its owner had been named, it suddenly had meaning for him, and a grim and frightening meaning at that. He paled and stiffened, staring at the canon, but though his throat and lips worked, either he found no words or thought better of those that he had found, for he remained mute. Abbot Radulfus had drawn close on one side, and Hugh Beringar on the other.