Holy Thief (31 page)

Well,
Tutilo was out and gone, she hoped a good way west by now. The Benedictines had
no great hold in Wales, the old, less rigidly organized Christianity of the
Celtic Church lingered stubbornly there, even though the Roman rite had
prevailed. They would accept a runaway novice, all the more when they heard him
sing and play; they would provide him a patron and a house harp, and strip him
of his skirts and find him chausses and shirt and cotte in payment for his
music. And she, whatever it might cost her, would lift from him the last shadow
of suspicion of murder, so that wherever he went he would go a free and
vindicated man. And as for his other and lesser sins, they would be forgiven him.

There
was an ache within her at his going, but she would not regard it, or regret his
leaving her, though he had said in his haste that he would go nowhere without
her. Now all that mattered to make her achievement complete was that he should
never be recaptured, never subjected to narrow stone walls cramping his wings,
or a halter crushing the cords of his throat into silence.

All
through Prime she prayed unworded prayers for him, and waited and listened for
the first outcry of his loss. It came only when Brother Porter had carried the
breakfast bread and thin ale to Brother Jerome, and returned for the like
repast for Tutilo, and even then it was hardly an outcry at all, since Brother
Porter was not an exclaiming man, and scarcely recognized a crisis when he
blundered into one. He emerged quickly from the cell, detached one hand from
the wooden tray he was carrying to lock the door behind him, and then,
recalling that there was no one within to need the precaution, in recoil not
only left it unlocked but flung it wide open again. Daalny, keeping a wary eye
on that corner of the court from the doorway of the guesthall, for some reason
found this reaction perfectly logical. So did Cadfael, emerging at the same
moment from the garden. But in view of this want of surprise and consternation
on the custodian’s part, it behoved someone else to supply the deficiency.
Daalny slipped back to her preparations within, and left them to deal with it
as they thought best.

“He’s
gone!” said Brother Porter. “Now, how is that possible?”

It
was a serious question, not a protest. He looked at the large, heavy key on his
tray, and back to the open door, and knitted his thick grizzled brows.

“Gone?”
said Cadfael, very creditably astonished. “How could he be gone, and the door
locked, and the key in your lodge?”

“Look
for yourself,” said the porter. “Unless the devil has fetched his own away,
then someone else has laid hands on this key in the night to good purpose and
turned him loose in this world. Empty as a pauper’s purse in there, and the bed
hardly dented. He’ll be well away by this. Sub-Prior Herluin will be out of his
mind when he hears. He’s with Father Abbot at breakfast now, I’d best go and
spoil his porridge for him.” He did not sound greatly grieved about it, but not
exactly eager to bear the news, either.

“I’m
bound there myself,” said Cadfael, not quite mendaciously, for he had just
conceived the intention. “You get rid of the tray and follow me down, I’ll go
before and break the news.”

“I
never knew,” observed the porter, “that you had a bent for martyrdom. But lead
the way and welcome. And I’ll come. Praise God, his lordship is set to leave
this day, if he wants a safe journey Herluin and his fellows would be fools to
lose the chance for the sake of hunting a slippery lad like that, with a
night’s start into the bargain. We’ll be rid of them all before noon.” And he
went off amiably to free his hands of the tray. He was in two minds whether he
should return the key to its nail, but in the end he took it with him, as some
manner of corroborative evidence, and followed Cadfael down towards the abbot’s
lodging, but in no haste.

It
was a different matter when Herluin heard the news. He surged up from the
abbot’s table in his deprivation and loss, bereft now not only of his treasure
gleaned here in Shrewsbury, but of his vengeance also, enraged beyond measure
at having to go back to Ramsey almost empty-handed. For a short time, even
though he himself did not know the whole of it, he had been on his way back a
triumphant success, with generous largesse for the restoration, and the
immeasurable blessing of a miracle-working saint. All gone now, and the culprit
slipped through his fingers, so that he was left to trail home a manifest
failure, meagrely re-paid for his travels, and short of a novice not, perhaps,
exemplary in his behaviour, but valued for his voice, and therefore also in his
way profitable.

“He
must be pursued!” said Herluin, biting off every word with snapping, irregular
teeth in his fury. “And, Father Abbot, surely your guard upon his captivity has
been lax in the extreme, or how could any unauthorized person have gained
possession of the key to his cell? I should have taken care of the matter
myself rather than trust to others. But he must be pursued and taken. He has
charges to answer, offences to expiate. The delinquent must not be allowed to
go uncorrected.”

The
abbot in evident and formidable displeasure, though whether with the absconding
prisoner, his unwary guardians, or this fulminating avenger deprived of his
scapegoat, there was no knowing, said acidly: “He may be sought within my
premises, certainly. My writ does not presume to pursue men for punishment in
the outside world.”

Earl
Robert was also a guest at the abbot’s table on this last morning, but thus far
he had remained seated equably in his place, saying no word, his quizzical
glance proceeding silently from face to face, not omitting Cadfael, who had
shot his disruptive bolt without expression and in the flattest of voices, to
be backed up sturdily by the porter, still gripping the key that must have been
lifted from its nail during Vespers, or so he judged, and put back again before
the office ended. Since such interference with the abbatial orders here on
monastic ground was unheard of, he had taken no precautions against it, though
most of the time the lodge was manned, and the whole range of keys under the
occupant’s eye, and safe enough. The porter excused himself manfully. His part
was to see to it that the prisoners were properly fed, if austerely; with the
authorities rested the overseeing of their incarceration, and the judgement of
their causes.

“But
there is still a suspicion of murder against him,” cried Herluin, aggressively
triumphant as he recalled the secular charge. “He cannot be allowed to evade
that. The king’s law has a duty to recover the criminal, if the Church has
not.”

“You
are mistaken,” said Radulfus, severely patient. “The sheriff has already
assured me, yesterday, that he is satisfied on the proofs he holds that Brother
Tutilo did not kill the young man Aldhelm. The secular law has no charge to
bring against him. Only the Church can accuse him, and the Church has no
sergeants to despatch about the country in pursuit of its failures.”

The
word ‘failure’ had stung sharp colour into Herluin’s face, as if he felt
himself personally held to blame for being unable to keep his subordinates in
better control. Cadfael doubted if any such significance had been intended.
Radulfus was more likely to accuse himself of inadequate leadership than to
make the same charge against any other. Even now that might well be his
meaning. But Herluin took to himself, while he strenuously denied, every
failure that had cropped his dignity and authority, and threatened to send him
home humbled and in need of tolerance and consolation.

“It
may be, Father Abbot,” he said, stiffly erect and smouldering with doomladen
prophecy, “that in this matter the Church will need to examine itself closely,
for if it fail to contend against the evildoers wherever they may be found, its
authority may fall into disrepute. Surely the battle against evil, within or
without our pale, is as noble a Crusade as the contention within the Holy Land.
It is not to our credit if we stand by and let the evildoer go free. This man
has deserted his brotherhood and abandoned his vows. He must be brought back to
answer for it.”

“If
you esteem him as a creature so fallen from grace,” said the abbot coldly, “you
should observe what the Rule has to say of such a case, in the twenty-eighth
chapter, where it is written: “Drive out the wicked man from among you.”

“But
we have not driven him out,” persisted Herluin, still incandescent with rage,
“he has not waited the judgement nor answered for his offences, but taken
himself off secretly in the night to our discomfiture.”

“Even
so,” murmured Cadfael as to himself but very audibly, unable to resist the
temptation, “in the same chapter the Rule commands us: ‘If the faithless
brother leaves you, let him go.’”

Abbot
Radulfus gave him a sharp glance, not altogether approving; and Robert Bossu
gleamed into that brief, private, unnerving smile of his, that was gone before
any target it might be aimed at could take offence.

“I
am responsible to my abbot,” said Herluin, doggedly diverting the argument into
a different channel, “for the novice committed to my charge, I must at least
make enquiry after him as best I may.”

“I
fear,” said Robert Bossu with relentless sweetness, “that time is too short
even for that. If you decide to remain and pursue this quest, I fear you must
resume your journey in less favourable circumstances. As soon as the early Mass
is over we muster and leave. You would be wise, all the more as you are now one
man short, to take advantage of our numbers and travel with us.”

“If
your lordship could delay only a couple of days...” began Herluin, writhing.

“I
regret, no. I have malefactors of my own needing my presence,” said the earl,
gallingly gentle and considerate. “Especially if a few rogues and vagabonds
like those who attacked your wagon are still making their way out of the Fens
into safer fastnesses through my lands. It is high time I went back. I have
lost my wager for Saint Winifred, but I don’t grudge it, for after all, it was
I who brought her back here, so even if she eludes me, I must have been doing
her will to the last scruple, and there will surely be a minor blessing in it
for my pains. But now I’m needed nearer home. When Mass is over,” said Earl
Robert firmly, and made to rise, for it was nearly time. “I would advise you
join us, Father Herluin, and do as Saint Benedict bids you, let the faithless
brother go.”

The
valedictory Mass began early and was briskly conducted, for the earl, once
roused for departure, somehow conveyed the ardour of his mood to all those
about him. When they came out into the early sunight the bustle of loading and
saddling began at once. Out they came to the muster, Nicol the steward and his
fellow from Ramsey, attendant on a morose and taciturn Herluin, still very loth
to abandon his stray, but even more reluctant to linger, and miss this
opportunity of a safe and comfortable passage half the way home, at least, and
probably a mount for the rest of the way, since Robert Bossu could be generous
to churchmen, even to one he cordially disliked.

The
grooms came up from the stables with the narrow carriage that had conveyed
Saint Winifred’s reliquary back to its home. Stripped now of the embroidered
draperies which had graced it when it carried the saint, it would now serve as
baggage wagon for all the party. Loaded with the earl’s belongings, and those
of his squires, the alms collected by Herluin at Worcester and Evesham, and the
greater part of Rémy’s instruments and possessions, which were compact enough,
it could still accommodate Nicol and his companion, and not be too heavy a load
for the horse. The packhorse which had carried the earl’s baggage on the
outward journey was freed now to carry Herluin.

The
two young squires led the saddled horses up from the stableyard, and Bénezet
followed with Rémy’s mount and his own, with a young novice leading Daalny’s
stolid cob bringing up the rear. The gate already stood wide for their passage.
All done with competent speed. Cadfael, looking on from the corner of the
cloister, had an eye anxiously on the open gate, for things had moved a little
too briskly. It was early yet to expect Hugh and his officers, but no doubt the
ceremonious farewells would take some time, and as yet the principals had not appeared.
In all probability the earl would not think of setting out without taking his
leave of Hugh.

The
brothers had dispersed dutifully about their labours, but at every approach to
the great court tended to linger rather longer than was strictly necessary, to
contemplate the assembly of grooms and horses shifting restively about the
cobbles, ready and eager to be on their way. The schoolboys were shooed away to
their morning lesson, but Brother Paul would probably loose them again at the
moment of departure.

Daalny,
cloaked and bareheaded, came out from the guesthall and descended the steps to
join the gathering below. She marked the balanced hang of Bénezet’s saddlebags,
and knew the one that held his secrets by the rubbed graze she had noted on its
front below the buckles. She watched it steadily, as Cadfael was watching her.
Her face was pale; so it was always, she had skin white as magnolia, but now it
had the drawn ice-pallor of stress over her slight, immaculate bones. Her eyes
were half-hooded, but glitteringly fixed under the long dark lashes. Cadfael
observed the signs of her tension and pain, and they grieved him, but he did
not quite know how to interpret them. She had done what she set out to do, sent
Tutilo out into a world better suited to him than the cloister. To come to
terms with her inevitable daily world without him, after this brief fantasy,
must cost her dear, there was no help for it. Having made his own plans, he
failed to realize that she might still have plans of her own for a final cast,
the one thing she still had left to do.