by Ellis Peters
Meantime, in occasional reversions to the day’s labours, he was thankful that Benet had completed the winter digging just in time, before the hard frost came, and attacked the final thin crop of weeds in all the flower beds so vigorously that now the earth could sleep snugly under the rime, and the whole enclosed garden looked neat and clean, and content as a hedge-pig curled up an arm’s length down under leaves and grass and dry herbage until the spring.
A good worker, the boy Benet, cheerful and ungrudging, and good company. Somewhat clouded by the death of this man who had brought him here, and at least never done him any harm, but his natural buoyancy would keep breaking through. Not much was left, now, of the candidate for the cloister. Had that been the one sign of human frailty in Father Ailnoth, that he had deliberately represented his groom on the journey north as desirous of the monastic life, though still a little hesitant to take the final step? A lie to get the boy off his hands? Benet was firm that he had never given voice to any such wish, and Benet, in Cadfael’s considered opinion, would make a very poor liar. Come to think of it, not very much left, either, of the wide-eyed, innocent, unlettered bumpkin Benet had first affected, at least not here in the solitude of the garden. He could still slip it on like a glove if for any reason the prior accosted him. Either he thinks me blind, said Cadfael to himself, or he does not care at all to pretend with me. And I am very sure he does not think me blind!
Well, a day or two more, and surely Hugh would be back. As soon as he was released from attendance on the King he would be making his way home by forced marches. Aline and Giles between them would take care of that. God send he would come home with the right answer!
*
And it seemed that Hugh had indeed made all haste to get home to his wife and son, for he rode into Shrewsbury late in the evening of the twenty-seventh, to hear from a relieved Alan Herbard of the turmoil that awaited solution, the death that came rather as blessing than disaster to the people of the Foregate, but must none the less be taken very seriously by the King’s officers. He came down immediately after Prime next morning, to get the most authoritative account from the abbot, and confer with him over the whole troublesome matter of the priest’s relationship with his flock. He had also another grave matter of his own to confide.
Cadfael knew nothing of Hugh’s return until mid morning, when his friend sought him out in the workshop. The broken-glass grating of boots on the frozen gravel made Cadfael turn from his mortar, knowing the step but hardly believing in it.
“Well, well!” he said, delighted. “I hadn’t thought to clap eyes on you for a day or two yet. Glad I am to see you, and I hope I read the signs aright?” He broke free from Hugh’s embrace to hold him off at arm’s length and study his face anxiously. “Yes, you have the look of success about you. Do I see you confirmed in office?”
“You do, old friend, you do! And kicked out promptly to my shire to be about my master’s business. Trust me, Cadfael, he’s come back to us lean and hungry and with the iron-marks on him, and he wants action, and vengeance, and blood. If he could but keep up this fury of energy, he could finish this contention within the year. But it won’t last,” said Hugh philosophically, “it never does. God, but I’m still stiff with all the riding I’ve done. Have you got a cup of wine about you, and half an hour to sit and waste with me?”
He flung himself down gratefully on the wooden bench and stretched out his feet to the warmth of the brazier, and Cadfael brought cups and a flagon, and sat down beside him, taking pleasure in viewing the slight figure and thin, eloquent face that brought in with them the whole savour of the outside world, fresh from the court, ratified in office, a man whose energy did not flag as Stephen’s did, who did not abandon one enterprise to go off after another, as Stephen did. Or were those days now over? Perhaps the King’s privations and grievances in prison in Bristol had put an end to all half-hearted proceedings in the future. But plainly Hugh did not think him capable of sustaining so great a change.
“He wore his crown again at the Christmas feast, and a sumptuous affair it was. Give him his due, there’s no man living could look more of a king than Stephen. He questioned me closely in private as to how things shape in these parts, and I gave him a full account of how we stand with the earl of Chester, and the solid ally Owain Gwynedd has been to us there in the north of the shire. He seemed content enough with me—at least he clouted me hard on the back—a fist like a shovel, Cadfael!—and gave me his authority to get on with the work as sheriff confirmed. He even recalled how I ever came to get his countenance as Prestcote’s deputy. I fancy that’s a rare touch in kings, part of the reason why we cling to Stephen even when he maddens us. So I got not only his sanction, but a great shove to get back on the road and back to my duty. I think he means to make a visit north when the worst of the winter’s over, to buckle a few more of the waverers to him again. Lucky I’d thought to get a change of horses four times on the way south,” said Hugh thankfully,”thinking I might be in haste coming back. I’d left my grey in Oxford, going down. And here I am, glad to be home.”
“And Alan Herbard will be glad to see you home,” said Cadfael, “for he’s been dropped into deep water while you’ve been away. Not that he shrinks from it, though he can hardly have welcomed it. He’ll have told you what’s happened here? On the very Nativity! A bad business!”
“He’s told me. I’ve just come from the abbot, to get his view of it. I saw but little of the man, but I’ve heard enough from others. A man well hated, and in so short a time. Is their view of him justified? I could hardly ask Abbot Radulfus to cry his candidate down, but I would not say he had any great regard for him.”
“A man without charity or humility,” said Cadfael simply. “Salted with those, he might have been a decent fellow, but both were left out of him. He came down over the parish like a cloud of blight, suddenly.”
“And you’re sure it was murder? I’ve seen his body, I know of the head wound. Hard to see, I grant you, how he could have come by that by accident, or alone.”
“You’ll have to pursue it,” said Cadfael, “whatever poor angry soul struck the blow. But you’ll get no help from the Foregate folk. Their hearts will be with whoever rid them of the shadow.”
“So Alan says, too,” said Hugh, briefly smiling. “He knows these people pretty shrewdly, young as he is. And he’d rather I should harry them than he. And inasmuch as I must, I will. I’m warned off charity and humility myself,” said Hugh ruefully, “on the King’s affairs. He wants his enemies hunted down without remorse, and is giving orders right and left to that effect. And I have a charge to be the hunter here in my shire, for one of them.”
“Once before, as I recall,” said Cadfael, refilling his friend’s cup, “he gave you a task to do that you did in your own way, which certainly was not his when he gave the order. He never questioned your way, after. He may as well repent of this, later, and be glad if you shuffle your feet somewhat in the hunt. Not that I need to tell you as much, since you know it all before.”
“I can make a goodly show,” agreed Hugh, grinning, “and still bear in mind that he might not be grateful for overmuch zeal, once he gets over his grudges. I never knew him bear malice for long. He did his worst here in Shrewsbury, and dislikes to be reminded of it now. The thing is this, Cadfael. Back in the summer, when it seemed the Empress had crown and sceptre and all in her hands, FitzAlan in Normandy is known to have sent over a couple of scouts of his following, to sound out the extent of her support, and see if the time was ripe to bring a fresh force over to add to her strength. How they were discovered I haven’t heard, but when her fortunes were reversed, and the Queen brought her army up into London and beyond, these two venturers were cut off from return, and have been one leap ahead of capture ever since. One of them is thought to have got off successfully from Dunwich, but the other is still loose somewhere, and since he’s been hunted without result in the south, the cry is now that he’s made his way north to get out of range, a
nd try to make contact with sympathisers of Anjou for help. So all the King’s sheriffs are ordered to keep a strict watch for him. After his rough treatment, Stephen’s in no mind to forgive and forget. I’m obliged to make a show of zeal, and that means making the matter public by proclamation, and so I shall. For my part, I’m glad to know that one of them has slipped overseas again safely, back to his wife. Nor would I be sorry if I heard that the second had followed him. Two bold boys venturing over here alone, putting their skins at risk for a cause—why should I have anything against them? Nor will Stephen, when he comes to himself.”
“You use very exact terms,” said Cadfael curiously. “How do you know they are mere boys? And how do you know that the one who’s fled back to Normandy has a wife?”
“Because, my Cadfael, it’s known who they are, the pair of them, youngsters very close to FitzAlan. The hart we’re still hunting is one Ninian Bachiler. And the lad who’s escaped us, happily, is a certain young fellow named Torold Blund, whom both you and I have good cause to remember.” He laughed, seeing how Cadfael’s face brightened in astonished pleasure. “Yes, the same long lad you hid in the old mill along the Gaye, some years back. And now reported as son-in-law to FitzAlan’s closest friend and ally, Fulke Adeney. Yes, Godith got her way!”
Good cause to remember, indeed! Cadfael sat warmed through by the recollection of Godith Adeney, for a short time his garden boy Godric to the outer world, and the young man she had helped him to succour and send away safely into Wales. Man and wife now, it seemed. Yes, Godith had got her way!
“To think,” said Hugh, “that I might have married her! If my father had lived longer, if I’d never come to Shrewsbury to put my newly inherited manors at Stephen’s disposal, and never set eyes on Aline, I might well have married Godith. No regrets, I fancy, on either side. She got a good lad, and I got Aline.”
“And you’re sure he’s slipped away safely out of England, back to her?”
“So it’s reported. And so may his fellow slip away, with my goodwill,” said Hugh heartily, “if he’s Torold’s match, and can oblige me by keeping well out of my way. Should you happen on him, Cadfael—you have a way of happening on the unexpected—keep him out of sight. I’m in no mind to clap a good lad into prison for being loyal to a cause which isn’t mine.”
“You have a good excuse for setting his case aside,” Cadfael suggested thoughtfully, “seeing you’re come home to find a slain man on the doorstep, and a priest at that.”
“True, I could argue that as the prior case,” agreed Hugh, setting his empty cup aside and rising to take his leave. “All the more as this affair is indeed laid right at my door, and for all I know young Bachiler may be a hundred miles away or more. A small show of zeal, however, won’t come amiss, or do any harm.”
Cadfael went out into the garden with him. Benet was just coming up over the far rim of the rose garden, where the ground sloped away to the pease fields and the brook. He was whistling jauntily as he came, and swinging an axe lightly in one hand, for a little earlier he had been breaking the ice on the fish ponds, to let air through to the denizens below.
“What did you say, Hugh, was the christened name of this young man Bachiler you’re supposed to be hunting?”
“Ninian or so he’s reported.”
“Ah, yes!” said Cadfael. “That was it—Ninian.”
*
Benet came back into the garden after his dinner with the lay servants, and looked about him somewhat doubtfully, kicking at the hard-frozen ground he had recently dug, and viewing the clipped hedges now silvered with rime that lasted day-long and increased by a fresh frilling of white every night. Every branch that stirred tinkled like glass. Every clod was solid as stone.
“What is there for me to do?” he demanded, tramping into Cadfael’s workshop. “This frost halts everything. No man could plough or dig, a day like this. Let alone copy letters,” he added, round eyed at the thought of the numb fingers in the scriptorium trying to line in a capital with precious gold-leaf, or even write an unshaken line. “They’re still at it, poor wretches. At least there’s some warmth in handling a spade or an axe. Can I split you some wood for the brazier? Lucky for us you need the fire for your brews, or we should be as blue and stiff as the scribes.”
“They’ll have lighted the fire in the warming room early, a day like this,” said Cadfael placidly, “and when they can no longer hold pen or brush steady they have leave to stop work. You’ve done all the digging within the walls here, and the pruning’s finished, no need to feel guilty if you sit idle for once. Or you can take a turn at these mysteries of mine if you care to. Nothing learned is ever quite wasted.”
Benet was ready enough to try his hand at anything. He came close, to peer curiously at what Cadfael was stirring in a stone pot on a grid on the side of the brazier. Here in their shared solitude he was quite easy, and had lost the passing disquiet and dismay that had dimmed his brightness on Christmas Day. Men die, and thinking men see a morsel of their own death in every one that draws close to them, but the young soon recover. And what was Father Ailnoth to Benet, after all? If he had done him a kindness in letting him come here with his aunt, the priest had none the less had the benefit of the boy’s willing service on the journey, a fair exchange.
“Did you visit Mistress Hammet last evening?” asked Cadfael, recalling another possible source of concern. “How is she now?”
“Still bruised and shaken,” said Benet, “but she has a stout spirit, she’ll do well enough.”
“She hasn’t been greatly worried by the sergeants? Hugh Beringar is home now, and he’ll want to hear everything from her own lips, but she need not trouble for that. Hugh has been told how it was, she need only repeat it to him.”
“They’ve been civility itself with her,” said Benet. “What is this you’re making?”
It was a large pot, and a goodly quantity of aromatic brown syrup bubbling gently in it. “A mixture for coughs and colds,” said Cadfael. “We shall be needing it any day now, and plenty of it, too.”
“What goes into it?”
“A great many things. Bay and mint, coltsfoot, horehound, mullein, mustard, poppy—good for the throat and the chest—and a small draught of the strong liquor I distil does no harm in such cases, either. But if you want work, here, lift out that big mortar… yes, there! Those frost-gnawed hands you were pitying, we’ll make something for those.”
The chilblains of winter were always a seasonal enemy, and an extra batch of ointment for treating them could not come amiss. He began to issue orders briskly, pointing out the herbs he wanted, making Benet climb for some, and move hastily up and down the hanging bunches for others. The boy took pleasure in this novel entertainment, and jumped to obey every crisp command.
“The small scale, there, at the back of the shelf—fetch that out, and while you’re in the corner there, the little weights are in the box beside. Oh, and, Ninian…” said Cadfael, sweet and calm and guileless as ever.
The boy, interested and off his guard, halted and swung about in response to his name, waiting with a willing smile to hear what next he should bring. And on the instant he froze where he stood, the serene brightness still visible on a face turned to marble, the smile fixed and empty. For a long moment they contemplated each other eye to eye, Cadfael also smiling, then warm blood flushed into Benet’s face and he stirred out of his stillness, and the smile, wary as it was, became live and young again. The silence endured longer, but it was the boy who broke it at last.
“Now what should happen? Am I supposed to overturn the brazier, set the hut on fire, rush out and bar the door on you, and run for my life?”
“Hardly,” said Cadfael, “unless that’s what you want. It would scarcely suit me. It would become you better to put that scale down on the level slab there, and pay attention to what you and I are about. And while you’re at it, that jar by the shutter is hog’s fat, bring that out, too.”
Benet did so, with admirable calm
now, and turned a wryly smiling face. “How did you know? How did you know even my name?” He was making no further pretence at secrecy, he had even relaxed into a measure of perverse enjoyment.
“Son, the story of your invasion of this realm, along with another mad-head as reckless as yourself, seems to be common currency by this time, and the whole land knows you are supposed to have fled northwards from regions where you were far too hotly hunted for comfort. Hugh Beringar got his orders to keep an eye open for you, at the feast in Canterbury. King Stephen’s blood is up, and until it cools your liberty is not worth a penny if his officers catch up with you. For I take it,” he said mildly, “that you are Ninian Bachiler?”
“I am. But how did you know?”
“Why, once I heard that there was a certain Ninian lost somewhere in these midland counties, it was not so hard. Once you all but told me yourself. “What’s your name?” I asked you, and you began to say “Ninian”, and then caught yourself up and changed it to a clownish echo of the question, before you got out “Benet”. And oh, my child, how soon you gave over pretending with me that you were a simple country groom. Never had a spade in your hand before! No, I swear you never had, though I grant you you learn very quickly. And your speech, and your hands—No, never blush or look mortified, it was not so obvious, it simply added together grain by grain. And besides, you stopped counting me as someone to be deceived. You may as well admit it.”
“It seemed unworthy,” said the boy, and scowled briefly at the beaten earth floor. “Or useless, perhaps! I don’t know! What are you going to do with me now? If you try to give me up, I warn you I’ll do all I can to break away. But I won’t do it by laying hand on you. We’ve been friendly together.”