Holy Thief (17 page)

Herluin
had opened his mouth and drawn breath to ride over his presumptuous novice with
a torrent of indignant words, but then held his breath even before the abbot
had cautioned him with a peremptory hand. For to revile this troublesome boy at
this moment was to damage whatever claim Ramsey had to the stake for which the
bold wretch had made so perilous a bid. What could not a miracle-working saint
achieve for the future glory of Ramsey? And the issue was still very much
alive, for here beside him, listening alertly and with a dry little smile, was
the earl of Leicester, who, whether in earnest or in mischief, was urging a
plea of his own for the same prize. No, say nothing yet, not until things
become clearer. Leave the options open. Bow gracefully to Abbot Radulfus’s
gesture of restraint, and keep your mouth shut.

“You
do right, at least, in confession,” said Radulfus mildly. “As you yourself
informed us last night, and the lord sheriff has since confirmed, to our
endless regret, and surely to yours, the young man you so beguiled is now dead,
here within our walls, and shall be at our charge for the rites due to him. It
would have been better, would it not, if you had spoken earlier, and spared him
the journey that was his death?”

Such
colour as there was in Tutilo’s weary face slowly drained away to leave him
grey and mute. When he could wring the tight cords of his throat into speech he
said in a throttled whisper: “Father, it is my shame. But I could not know!
Even now I do not understand!”

Cadfael
considered, when he came to think it out afterwards, that that was the moment
when he became certain that Tutilo had not killed, had not ever imagined that
his deceit was putting another soul in danger of death.

“What
is done, is done,” said the abbot neutrally. “You speak of defending it. If you
think it defensible, go on. We will hear you out.”

Tutilo
swallowed, and rallied, straightening his shapely shoulders. “Father, what I
cannot sufficiently justify I can at least explain. I came here with Father
Herluin, grieving for Ramsey’s wrongs, and longing to do something great to
benefit the restoration of our house. I heard of the miracles of Saint
Winifred, and the many pilgrims and rich gifts she has brought to Shrewsbury,
and I dreamed of finding such a patroness to give new life to Ramsey. I prayed
that she would intercede for us, and show us her grace, and it came to me that
she heard me, and that she willed to do us good. It seemed to me, Father, that
she inclined to us, and willed to visit us. And I began to feel it heavy upon
me, that I must do her will.”

Colour
had come back into his cheeks, burning on the notable bones, a little hectic, a
little fevered. Cadfael watched him and was in doubt. Had he convinced himself,
or could he produce at will this rapture to convince others? Or, like any
fallible human sinner, was he desperately constructing an armour of simplicity
about his devious shiftings? Sin detected can contrive all manner of veils to
cover its nakedness.

“I
planned and did what I have already told you,” said Tutilo, suddenly brief and
dry. “I felt that I was doing no wrong. I believed I was instructed, and
faithfully I obeyed. But bitterly I regret that I needed another man’s hands to
help me, and he in ignorance.”

“In
innocence,” said the abbot, “to his peril.”

“I
acknowledge it,” said Tutilo, erect and wide-eyed. “I regret it. God forgive me
for it!”

“In
due time,” said Radulfus with unremitting detachment, “so he may. That is not
for us to meddle with. As for us, we have your story, we have a saint who has
made her way back to us by strange ways, and we have those who have been
friends to her on that journey, and may well believe, as you believe, that the
lady has been in control of her own destiny, and choosing her own friends and
her own dependants. But before ever we come to that issue, we have here a
murdered man. Neither God nor his saints will tolerate murder. This young man
Aldhelm cries to us for justice. If there is anything you can tell us that may
shed light on his death, speak now.”

“Father,”
said Tutilo, burning into startling whiteness, “I pledge you my faith I never
did nor never would have done him any harm, nor do I know of any who might need
to wish him ill. It is true he could have told you of me what now I have told
you. It never was matter for such fear to me that I must have tried to silence
him. He helped me! He helped her! I would have said yes to him when he pointed
at me. Granted I was a little afraid, I tried to be secret. But there are no
secrets now.”

“Yet
you are the only man,” insisted the abbot mercilessly, but without pressing the
suggestion to an accusation, “who is known to have had reason to fear his
coming here with what he could tell. What you yourself have now chosen to tell
us can neither undo that truth, nor absolve you from it. Until more is known
concerning his death, I judge that you must be held in confinement within my
custody. The only charge that can be made against you at this moment is of
theft from our house, however that may be read hereafter. That leaves you
within my writ. I think the lord sheriff may have somewhat to say to that
disposition.”

“I
have nothing to object to it,” said Hugh promptly. “I trust him to your charge,
Father Abbot.”

Herluin
had said not a word for or against. He was nursing in silence the options left
to him, and so far they did not appear to him totally unpromising. The silly
boy might have made potentially disastrous mistakes, but he had preserved the
basis of his claim. The saint had willed it! How does the incumbent house prove
otherwise? She did set out, only the wickedness of men frustrated her journey.

“Ask
Brother Vitalis to call the porters to take him away,” said the abbot. “And,
Brother Cadfael, see him into his cell, and if you will, come back to us.”

Chapter Seven

IT
WAS APPARENT TO CADFAEL, when he reentered the abbot’s parlour, that if battle
had not actually been joined, war trumpets were certainly being tuned for the
onset. Radulfus maintained his judicial calm, and the earl’s broad brow was
suave and benign, though there was no guessing what went on in the highly
intelligent mind behind it; but Prior Robert and Sub-Prior Herluin sat very
erect, stiff in the spine and with long, refined faces sharpened into steel,
studiously not looking straight at each other, but maintaining each a bright
gaze on distance, and the appearance of considering with magisterial detachment
the situation that confronted them.

“Setting
aside the issue of murder,” said Herluin, “for which as yet we lack any kind of
proof, surely his story is to be believed. This was a holy theft. He was doing
what the saint willed.”

“I
do not find it easy,” said Abbot Radulfus, with a distinct chill in his voice,
“to set aside the issue of murder. It takes precedence of any other matter.
Hugh, what can you say of this boy? He has told us now what he might well have
feared the dead man could tell us. That leaves him with no cause to kill.”

“No,”
said Hugh. “He had cause, by his own admission, and we know of no other who
had. It is possible that he did kill, but having killed, took thought to cover
what he had done. Possible... I say no more than that. He came straight to us
at the castle, and told us how he had found the body, and no question but he
was greatly shaken and agitated, as well he might be, guilty or innocent. Today
I must say he has behaved wholly in accordance with innocence, moved, pitying,
patient in attendance. If all that was put on of design, to disguise guilt,
then he is beyond his years bold, sharp-witted and devious. But,” he added
wryly, “I have it in mind that so he is, and may very well have had the
hardihood to play it so.”

“But
then,” said Radulfus, thoughtfully frowning, “why come to me now, and confess
the very thing of which the witness could have accused him?”

“Because
he had not fully realized that suspicion would still follow him, and now it
would be suspicion of murder. In such a case better to accept whatever
penalties the Church might impose, however harsh, for theft and deceit, rather
than fall into the hands of the secular law, my law,” said Hugh firmly, “where
murder is a hanging matter. If by submitting to the one guilt he could evade
all suspicion upon the worse count... he is quite shrewd enough, I fancy, to
make the choice and quite durable enough to abide it. Father Herluin should
know him better than we.”

But
Cadfael was certain by then that Herluin did not know his Tutilo at all,
probably never had any clear idea what went on in the minds of any of his
novices, because he paid no regard to them. Hugh’s prompting, perhaps
intentionally, had put him into a difficult position. He would want to distance
himself and Ramsey in horror from any possibility of having harboured a
murderer, but while the possibility still remained of profiting by a theft,
holy or unholy, he would want to retain the appearance of valuing and believing
in the thief.

“Brother
Tutilo has not been in my especial care until this journey,” he said carefully,
“but I have always found him truly devoted to our house of Ramsey. He says that
he had his directions in prayer and reverence from the saint, and I have every
reason to believe him. Such saintly inspirations have been known. It would be
presumptuous to flout them.”

“We
are speaking of murder,” said Radulfus austerely. “In all honesty, though I
should be loth to say of any man that he is capable of killing, I dare not say
of any man that he is wholly incapable of it. The boy was present on that path,
by his own statement and actions, he had, however he might regret the act afterwards,
cause to be rid of a man who could accuse him. That is as far as there is
witness against him. For him it must be said that he went at once to report the
death to authority, and then came back to us and again told the same story.
Does it not seem to you that had the guilt been his, he could have come
straight home and said never a word, and left it to some other to find the dead
and sound the alarm?”

“We
might well have wondered,” said Prior Robert flatly, “at his state. The sheriff
has said he was in great agitation. It is not easy to show calm and unshaken
before others, after such a deed.”

“Or
after the discovery of such a deed,” said Hugh fairly.

“Whatever
the truth of it,” said the earl with assurance, “you have him safe in hold, you
need only wait, and if he has indeed more and worse to tell, you may get it
from the lad himself. I doubt if he is a hard enough case to brazen it out for
long in confinement. If he adds nothing, after a few weeks, you may take it he
has nothing to add.”

That
might very well be wisdom, Cadfael thought, listening respectfully. What could
be more debilitating to the young, what harder to bear with constancy, than
being shut into a narrow stone cell, under lock and key, with only a narrow
cot, a tiny reading desk and a crucifix on the wall for company, and the length
of half a dozen stone flags for exercise? Though Tutilo had entered it, only
half an hour ago, with evident relief and pleasure, and even heard the key
turned in the lock without a tremor. The bed was gift enough. Narrow and hard
it might be, but it was large enough for him, and blissfully welcome. But leave
him there alone and snared for as long as ten days, and yes, if he had by then
any secrets left, he would confide them all in exchange for the air of the
great court, and the music of the Office.

“I
have no time to spend here in waiting,” said Herluin. “My mission is to take
back to Ramsey such alms as I have been able to gain, at least by the goodwill
of Worcester and Evesham. And unless some secular charge is made against
Tutilo, I must take him back with me. If he has offended against Church law or
the Rule of the Order, it is for Ramsey to discipline him. His own abbot must
take that charge upon him. But by the leave of all here, I challenge your view,
Father Abbot, that he has committed any offence touching the removal of Saint
Winifred’s reliquary. I repeat, this was a holy theft, undertaken in duty and
reverence. The saint herself instructed him. If it were not so, she would never
have allowed it to succeed.”

“I
tremble at crossing swords with you,” said Robert Bossu in the sweetest and
most reasonable of voices, his high shoulder leaned at ease against the
panelled wall at his back, “but I must observe that she did not allow it to
succeed. The wagon that carried her was waylaid and stolen by vagabonds in the
forests of my domain, and in my lands she came to rest.”

“That
intervention was by the malice of evil men,” said Herluin, roused and fiery of
eye.

“But
you have acknowledged that the power of such a saint can and will frustrate the
malice of evil men. If she did not see fit to prevent their actions, it must be
because they served her purposes. She let pass her abduction from Shrewsbury,
she let pass the onslaught of outlaws. In my woodland she came to rest, and to
my house she was carried into sanctuary. By your own reasoning, Father, all
this, if any, must have been achieved by her will.”

“I
would remind you both,” said the abbot gently, “that if she has been all this
while consulting her own wishes, and imposing them upon us mortals, Saint
Winifred is again on her own altar in our church. This, then, must be the end
at which all this diversion was aiming. And she is where she desires to be.”