St. Peter's Fair (25 page)

All
the same, he crossed the road and made for the copse, as on the night he was
repeating, and found some faint signs of his wallow still visible, dried into
the trampled grass. Then back towards the river, avoiding the streets, keeping
to the cover of woodland, and there was the sheltered hollow where he had slept
off the worst of his orgy, before gathering himself up stiffly and hobbling
back to the town. There was enough lambent starlight to see his way, and show
him the scuffled and flattened grasses.

But
no, this was not the place! Here there was a faint, trodden path, and he had
certainly moved much deeper into the bushes and trees, down-river, hiding even
from the night. This glade looked very like the other, but it was not the same.
Yet someone or something, large as a man, had lain here, and not peacefully.
Surely more than one pair of feet had ploughed the turf. A pair of opportunist
lovers, enjoying one of the traditional pleasures of the fair? Or another kind
of struggle? No, hardly a struggle, though something had been dragged downhill
towards the river, which was just perceptible as a gleam between the trees.
There was a patch of bare soil, dry and pale as clay, between the spreading
roots of the birch tree against which he leaned, and ribbons of dropped bark
littered it. The largest of them showed curiously dark instead of silvery, like
the rest. He stooped and picked it up, and his fingertips recoiled from the
black, encrusted stain. In the grass, if he searched by daylight, there might
well be other such blots.

In
looking for the place of his own humiliation, he had found something very
different, the place where Master Thomas had been killed. And below, from that
spur of grass standing well above the undermined bank, his body had been thrown
into the river.

After the Fair

Chapter One

BROTHER
CADFAEL CAME OUT FROM PRIME, next morning, to find Philip hovering anxiously in
the great court, fidgeting from one foot to the other as if the ground under
him burned, and so intent and grim of face that there was no doubting the
urgency of what he had to impart. At sight of Cadfael he came bounding
alongside to lay a hand on his sleeve.

“Will
you come with me to Hugh Beringar? You know him, he’ll listen if you vouch for
me. I didn’t know if he’d be stirring this early, so I waited for you. I think
I’ve found the place where Master Thomas was killed.”

It
was certainly not what he had been looking for, and came as a total irrelevance
for a moment to Brother Cadfael, who checked and blinked at an announcement so
unexpected. “You’ve done what!”

“It’s
true, I swear it! It was so late last night, I couldn’t pester anyone with it
then, and I’ve not been there by daylight—but someone bled there—someone was
dragged down to the water—“

“Come!”
said Cadfael, recovering. “We’ll go together.” And he set out at a brisk trot
for the guest-hall, Philip’s long strides keeping easy pace with him. “If
you’re right… He’ll want you to show the place. Can you find it again with
certainty?”

“I
can, you’ll see why.”

Hugh
came out to them yawning, in shirt and hose, but wide awake and shaven all the
same. “Speak low!” he said,
finger on lip, and softly closed
the door of his rooms behind him. “The women are still asleep. Now, what is it?
I know better than to turn away anyone who comes with Brother Cadfael’s
warranty.”

Philip
told only what was needful. For his own personal need there would be time
later. What mattered now was the glade in the edge of the woods, beyond the
orchards of the Gaye.

“I
was following my own scent, last night, and I made too short a cast at the way
I took down to the river. I came on a place in the trees there—I can find it
again—where some heavy thing had lain, and been dragged down to the water. The
grass is flattened where he lay, and combed downhill, where he was dragged, and
for all the three days between, it still shows the traces. I think there are
also spots of blood.”

“The
merchant of Bristol?” asked Hugh, after an instant of startled silence.

“I
think so. Daylight may show for certain.”

Hugh
turned to drain his morning ale in purposeful haste, and demolish the end of
oatcake he had been eating. “You slept at home? In the town?” He was brushing his
black crest hastily as he talked, tying the laces of his shirt and reaching for
his cotte. “And came to me rather than to the sheriff! Well, no harm, we’re
nearer than he, it will save time.” Sword and sword-belt he left lying, and
thrust his feet into his shoes. “Cadfael, you’ll be missing breakfast, take
these cakes with you, and drink something now, while you may. And you, friend,
have you eaten?”

“No
escort?” said Cadfael.

“To
what end? Your eyes and mine are all we require here, and the fewer great boots
stamping about the sward, the better. Come, before Aline wakes, she has a
bird’s hearing, and I’d rather have her rest. Now, Philip, lead! You’re on your
home turf, take us the quickest way.”

Aline
and Emma were at breakfast, resigned to Hugh’s sudden and silent departures,
when Ivo came asking admittance. Punctilious as always, he asked for Hugh.

“But
as that husband of mine has already gone forth somewhere on official business,”
said Aline, amused, “and as it’s certainly you he really wants to see, shall we
let him in? I
felt sure he would not go away without paying his
respects to you yet again. He has probably been exercising his wits to find a
way of ensuring it shan’t be the last time, either. He was hardly at his best
last night, and no wonder, after so many shocks, and grazed and bruised from
his fall.”

Emma
said nothing, but her colour rose agreeably. She had risen from her bed with a
sense of entering a life entirely new, and more her own to determine than ever
it had been before. By this hour Master Thomas’s barge must be well down the
Severn on its way home. She was relieved of the necessity of avoiding Roger
Dod’s grievous attentions, and eased of the sense of guilt she felt in doing
him what was probably the great wrong of fearing and distrusting his intentions
towards her. Her belongings were neatly packed for travelling, in a pair of
saddle-bags bought at the fair, for whatever was to become of her now, she
would be leaving the abbey today. If no immediate escort offered for the south,
she would go home with Aline, to await whatever arrangements Hugh could make
for her, and in default of any other trustworthy provision, he himself had
promised her his safe-conduct home to Bristol.

The
bustle of departure filled the stable-yard and the great court, and half the
rooms in the guest-hall had already been vacated. No doubt Turstan Fowler and
the young groom were also assembling their lord’s purchases and effects, and
saddling up the bay horse, returned to the abbey by an enterprising errand-boy
who had been lavishly rewarded, and their own shaggy ponies. Two of them! The
third would be on a leading rein.

Emma
felt cold when she remembered what had befallen the rider of the third pony,
and the things he had done. So sudden a death filled her with horror. But the
man had done murder, and had not scrupled to ride down his own lord when he was
unmasked. It was unreasonable to blame Ivo for what had happened, even if his
order had not been given in an understandable rage at the misuse of his patronage
and the assault upon his own person. Indeed, Emma had been touched, the
previous evening, when the very vehemence with which Ivo had defended his
action had so clearly betrayed his own doubts and regrets. It had ended in her
offering reassurance and comfort. It was a terrible thing in itself,
she thought, to have the power of life and death over your
fellowmen, whatever crimes they might have committed.

If
Ivo had lacked something of his normal balance and confidence last night, he
had certainly regained them this morning. His grooming was always immaculate,
and his dress, however simple, sat upon his admirable body with a borrowed
elegance. It had been hateful to him to be spilled into the dust, and rise
limping and defaced before a dozen or more witnesses. This morning he had made
sure of his appearance, and wore even the healing grazes on his left cheek like
ornaments; but as soon as he entered, Emma saw that he was still limping after
his fall.

“I’m
sorry to have missed your husband,” he said as he came into the room where they
were sitting, “but they tell me he’s already gone forth. I had a scheme to put
to him for approval. Dare I put it to you, instead?”

“I’m
already curious,” said Aline, smiling.

“Emma
has a problem, and I have a solution. I’ve been thinking about it ever since
you told me, Emma, two days ago, that you would not be returning to Bristol
with the barge, but must find a safe escort south by road. I have no right at
all to advance any claim, but if Beringar will consent to trust you to me… You
need to get home, I’m sure, as quickly as you can.”

“I
must,” said Emma, eyeing him with wondering expectation. “There are so many
things I must see to there.”

Ivo
addressed himself very earnestly to Aline. “I have a sister at Stanton Cobbold
who is determined to take the veil, and the convent of her choice has consented
to take her. And by luck it happens that she wished to join a Benedictine
house, and the place is the priory at Minchinbarrow, which is some few miles
beyond Bristol. She is waiting for me to take her there, and to tell the truth,
I’ve been delaying to give her time to change her mind, but the girl’s set on
her own way. I’m satisfied she means it. Now if you’ll confide Emma to my care,
as I swear you may with every confidence, for it will be my pleasure to serve
her, then why should not she and Isabel travel down very comfortably together?
I have men enough to provide a safe guard, and naturally I should myself be
their escort. That’s the plan I wanted to put to your
husband,
and I hope he would have felt able to fall in with it and give his approval.
It’s great pity he is not here—“

“It
sounds admirable,” said Aline, wide-eyed with pleasure, “and I’m sure Hugh
would feel completely happy in trusting Emma to your care. Had we not better
ask Emma herself what she has to say?”

Emma’s
flushed face and dazzled smile were speaking for her. “I think it would be the
best possible answer, for me,” she said slowly, “and I’m most grateful for so
kind a thought. But I must really go as soon as possible, and your sister— you
said, you wanted her to have time to be sure…”

Ivo
laughed, a little ruefully. “I’ve already reached the point of giving up the
hope of persuading her to stay in the world. Never fear that you may be forcing
Isabel’s hand, ever since she was accepted she has been trying to force mine.
And if it’s what she wants, who am I to prevent? She has everything ready, it
will give her only pleasure if I come home to say that we can start tomorrow.
If you’re willing to trust yourself to me alone for the few miles to Stanton
Cobbold, and sleep under our roof tonight, we can be on our way in the morning.
We can provide you horse and saddle, if you care to ride, or a litter for the
pair of you, as you please.”

“Oh,
I can ride,” she said, glowing. “It would be a delight.”

“We
would try and make it so. If,” said Ivo, turning his grazed smile almost
diffidently upon Aline, “if I may have your approval, and my lord Beringar’s. I
would not presume without that. But since this is a journey I must make, sooner
or later, and Isabel insists the sooner the better, why not take advantage of
it to serve Emma’s need, too?”

“It
would certainly solve everything very happily,” agreed Aline. And there could
be no doubt, thought Emma, bolstering her own dear wish with the persuasion of
virtue, that Aline would be relieved and happy if Hugh could be spared a
journey, and she several days deprived of his company. “Emma knows,” said
Aline, “that she may choose as she thinks best, for both you and we, it seems,
are equally at her service. As for approval, why, of course I approve, and so,
I’m sure, would Hugh.”

“I
wish he would put in an appearance,” said Ivo, “I
should be the
happier with his blessing. But if we are to go, I think we should set out at once.
I know I said all’s ready with Isabel, but for all that we may need to make the
most of this day.”

Emma
wavered between her desire and her regret at leaving without making her due and
grateful farewell to Hugh. But it was gain for him, great gain, to be rid of
the responsibility he had assumed, and so securely as this promised. “Aline,
you have been the soul of kindness to me, and I leave you with regret, but it
is better to spare an extra journey, in such times, and then, Hugh has been
kept so busy on my account already, and you’ve seen so little of him these
days… I should like to go with Ivo, if you’ll give me your blessing. Yet I hate
to go without thanking him properly…”

“Don’t
fret about Hugh, he will surely think you wise to take advantage of so kind and
fortunate an offer. I will give him all the pretty messages you’re thinking of.
Once I lose sight of him, now, I never know when he’ll return, and I’m afraid
Ivo is right, you may yet need every moment of the day, or certainly Isabel
may. It’s a great step she’s taking.”

“So
I’ve told her,” he said, “but my sister has the boldness of mind to take great
steps. You won’t mind, Emma, riding pillion behind me, the few miles we have to
go today? At home we’ll find you saddle and horse and all.”