Holy Thief (10 page)
Cadfael
was brought up with a jolt, no more than ten paces towards Vespers. He turned
back in haste to join this unexpected confrontation, and look more closely at
the lame man.
“Master
James of Betton? Herluin’s master-carpenter?” No doubt of it, the same who had
set out with the wagon-load of wood for Ramsey, more than a week ago, but
limping and afoot now, and back where he had begun, and soiled and bruised not
only from the road. And his companion, the elder of the two masons who had set
off hopefully to find steady work at Ramsey, here beside him, with torn cotte
and a clout bound about his head, and a cheekbone blackened from a blow.
“What’s
come to us on the road!” the master-carpenter repeated ruefully. “Everything
foul, short of murder. Robbery by cutthroats and outlaws. Wagon gone, timber
gone, horses gone, stolen, every stick and every beast, and only by the grace
of God not a man of us killed. For God’s sake, let us in and sit down. Martin
here has a broken head, but he would come back with me...”
“Come!”
said Cadfael, with an arm about the man’s shoulders. “Come within to the
warmth, and Brother Porter will get some wine into you, while I go and tell
Father Abbot what’s happened. I’ll be with you again in no time, and see to the
lad’s head. Trouble for nothing now. Praise God you’re safely back! All
Herluin’s alms couldn’t buy your lives.”
WE
DID WELL ENOUGH,” said Master James of Betton, in the abbot’s panelled parlour
an hour later, “until we came into the forest there, beyond Eaton. It’s thick
woodland there south of Leicester, but well managed, as the roads go these days.
And we had five good lads aboard, we never thought to run into any trouble we
couldn’t handle. A couple of wretches on the run, skulking in the bushes on the
lookout for prey, would never have dared break cover and try their luck with
us. No, these were very different gentry. Eleven or twelve of them, with
daggers and bludgeons, and two wore swords. They must have been moving
alongside us in cover, taking our measure, and they had two archers ahead, one
either side the track. Someone whistled them out when we came to the narrowest
place, bows strung and shafts fitted, shouting to us to halt. Roger from Ramsey
was driving, and a good enough hand with horses and wagons, but what chance did
he have with the pair of them drawing on him? He says he did think of whipping
up and running them down, but it would have been useless, they could shoot far
faster than we could drive at them. And then they came at us from both sides.”
“I
thank God,” said Abbot Radulfus fervently, “that you live to tell it. And all,
you say, all your fellows are well alive? The loss is reparable, but your lives
are greater worth.”
“Father,”
said Master James, “there’s none of us but bears the marks of it. We did not
let them put us down easily. There’s Martin here was clubbed senseless and
slung into the bushes. And Roger laid about him with his whip, and left the
print of it on two of the rogues before they downed him and used the thong to
bind him. But we were five against double as many, and armed villains very
willing to kill. They wanted the horses most, we saw but three they already had
with them, the rest forced to go afoot, and the wagon was welcome, too, they
had one, I think, already wounded. They beat and drove us aside, and off with
team and wagon at high speed into the forest by a track that turned southwards.
All the load, clean gone. And when I ran after, and young Payne on my heels,
they loosed a shaft at us that clipped my shoulder, you see the tear. We had no
choice but to draw off, and go and pick up Martin and Roger. Nicol gave as good
an account of himself as any of us, elder though he may be, and kept the key of
the coffer safe, but they threw him off the cart, and coffer and all are gone,
for it was there among the coppice-wood. What more could we have done? We never
looked to encounter an armed company in the forest, and so close to Leicester.”
“You
did all that could be expected of any man,” said the abbot firmly. “I am only
sorry you ever were put to it, and glad out of all measure that you came out of
it without worse harm. Rest here a day or two and let your hurts be tended
before you return to your homes. I marvel who these wretches could be, moving
in such numbers, and so heavily armed. Of what appearance were they, beggarly
and mean, or savage with less excuse for savagery?”
“Father,”
said Master James earnestly, “I never before saw poor devils living wild
wearing good leather jerkins and solid boots, and daggers fit for a baron’s
guard.”
“And
they made off southerly?” asked Cadfael, pondering this militant company so
well found in everything but horses.
“Southwest,”
amended the young man Martin. “And in a mortal hurry by all the signs.”
“In
a hurry to get out of the earl of Leicester’s reach,” Cadfael hazarded. “They’d
get short shrift from him if he once laid hands on them. I wonder if these were
not some of the horde Geoffrey de Mandeville collected about him, looking for
safer pastures to settle in, now the king is master of the Fens again? They’ll
be scattering in all directions still, and hunted everywhere. In Leicester’s
lands they certainly would not want to linger.”
That
raised a murmur of agreement from them all. No sane malefactor would want to
settle and conduct his predatory business in territory controlled by so active
and powerful a magnate as Robert Beaumont, earl of Leicester. He was the
younger of the twin Beaumont brothers, sons of the elder Robert who had been
one of the most reliable props of old King Henry’s firm rule, and they in their
turn had been as staunch in support of King Stephen. The father had died in
possession of the earldom of Leicester in England, Beaumont, Brionne and
Pontaudemer in Normandy, and the county of Meulan in France, and on his death
the elder twin Waleran inherited the Norman and French lands, the younger
Robert the English title and honour.
“He
is certainly not the man to tolerate thieves and bandits in his lands,” said
the abbot. “He may yet take these thieves before they can escape his writ.
Something may yet be recovered. More to the purpose at this moment, what has
become of your companions, Master James? You say all of them are living. Where
are they now?”
“Why,
my lord, when we were left alone, and I think if they had not been in such
haste to move on they would not have left a man of us alive to tell the tale,
we first tended the worst hurt, and took counsel, and decided we must take the
news on to Ramsey, and also back here to Shrewsbury. And Nicol, knowing that by
then Sub-Prior Herluin would be in Worcester, said that he would make his way
there and tell him what had befallen us. Roger was to make his way home to
Ramsey, and young Payne chose to go on there with him, as he had said he would.
Martin here would have done as much, but that I was none too secure on my feet,
and he would not let me undertake the journey home alone. And here at home I
mean to stay, for I’ve lost my taste for travelling, after that melee, I can
tell you.”
“No
blame to you,” agreed the abbot wryly. “So by this time this news of yours
should also have reached both Ramsey and Worcester, if there have been no
further ambushes on the way, as God forbid! And Hugh Beringar may already be in
Worcester, and will know what has happened. If anything can be done to trace
our cart and the hired horses, well! If not, at least the most precious lading,
the lives of five men, come out of it safely, God be thanked!”
Thus
far Cadfael had deferred his own news in favour of the far more urgent word
brought back by these battered survivors from the forests of Leicestershire.
Now he thought fit to put in a word. “Father Abbot, I’m back from Longner
without much gained, for neither of the young men who brought down the timber
has anything of note to tell. But still I feel that one more thing of immense value
must have been taken away with that wagon. I see no other way by which Saint
Winifred’s reliquary can have left the enclave.”
The
abbot gave him a long, penetrating look, and concluded at length: “You are in
solemn earnest. And indeed I see the force of what you say. You have spoken now
with everyone who took part in that evening’s work?”
“No,
Father, there’s yet one more to be seen, a young man from a neighbouring hamlet
who came down to help the carters. But them I have seen, and they do say that
this third man was called back into the church by one of the brothers, at the
end of the evening, for some last purpose, after which the brother came out
with him to thank them all, and bid them goodnight. They did not see anything
being stowed on the wagon for Ramsey. But they were busy and not paying
attention except to their own work. It’s a vague enough notion, that something
unauthorized was then loaded under cover of the dark. But I entertain it
because I see no other.”
“And
you will pursue it?” said the abbot.
“I
will go again, and find this young man Aldhelm, if you approve.”
“We
must,” said Radulfus. “One of the brothers, you say, called back the young man,
and came out afterwards with him. Could they name him?”
“No,
nor would they be able to know him again. It was dark, he was cowled against
the rain. And most likely, wholly innocent. But I’ll go the last step of the
way, and ask the last man.”
“We
must do what can be done,” said Radulfus heavily, “to recover what has been
lost. If we fail, we fail. But try we must.” And to the two returned
travellers: “Precisely where did this ambush take place?”
“Close
by a village called Ullesthorpe, a few miles from Leicester,” said Master James
of Betton.
The
two of them were drooping by then, in reaction from their long and laborious
walk home, and sleepy from the wine mulled for them with their supper. Radulfus
knew when to close the conference.
“Go
to your well-earned rest now, and leave all to God and the saints, who have not
turned away their faces from us.”
If
Hugh and Prior Robert had not been well mounted, and the elderly but resolute
former steward of Ramsey forced to go afoot, they could not have arrived at the
cathedral priory of Worcester within a day of each other. Nicol, since the
disastrous encounter near Ullesthorpe, had had five days to make his way lamely
across country to reach Sub-Prior Herluin and make his report. He was a
stouthearted, even an obstinate man, not to be deterred by a few bruises, and
not to surrender his charge without a struggle. If pursuit was possible, Nicol
intended to demand it of whatever authority held the writ in these parts.
Hugh
and Prior Robert had arrived at the priory late in the evening, paid their
respects to the prior, attended Vespers to do reverence to the saints of the
foundation, Saints Oswald and Wulstan, and taken Herluin and his attendants
into their confidence about the loss, or at the very least the misplacement, of
Saint Winifred’s reliquary; with a sharp eye, at least on Hugh’s part, for the way
the news was received. But he could find no fault with Herluin’s reaction,
which displayed natural dismay and concern, but not to excess. Too much
exclaiming and protesting would have aroused a degree of doubt as to his
sincerity, but Herluin clearly felt that here was nothing worse than some
confused stupidity among too many helpers in too much panic and haste, and what
was lost would be found as soon as everyone calmed down and halted the hunt for
a while to take thought. It was impressive, too, that he instantly stated his
intention of returning at once to Shrewsbury, to help to clarify the confusion,
though he seemed to be relying on his natural authority and leadership to
produce order out of chaos, rather than having anything practical in mind. He himself
had nothing to contribute. He had taken no part in the hurried labours within
the church, but had held himself aloof with dignity in the abbot’s lodging,
which was still high and dry. No, he knew nothing of who had salvaged Saint
Winifred. His last sight of her reliquary had been at morning Mass.
Tutilo,
awed and mute, shook his head, still in its aureole of unshorn curls, and
opened his amber eyes wide at hearing the disturbing news. Given leave to
speak, he said he had gone into the church to help, and had simply obeyed such
orders as were given to him, and he knew nothing of where the saint’s coffin
might be at this moment.
“This
must not go by default,” pronounced Herluin at his most majestic. “Tomorrow we
will ride back with you to Shrewsbury. She cannot be far. She must be found.”
“After
Mass tomorrow,” said Prior Robert, firmly reasserting his own leadership as
representing Shrewsbury, “we will set out.”
And
so they would have done, but for the coming of Nicol.
Their
horses were saddled and waiting, their farewells to the prior and brothers
already made, and Hugh just reaching for his bridle, when Nicol came trudging
sturdily in at the gatehouse, soiled and bruised and hoisting himself along on
a staff he had cut for himself in the forest. Herluin saw him, and uttered a
wordless cry, rather of vexation than surprise or alarm, for by this time the
steward should have been home in Ramsey, all his booty safely delivered. His
unexpected appearance here, whatever its cause, boded no good.
