The Raven in the Foregate (12 page)

But so was the fear. For someone, it seemed, had rid
the Foregate of its blight, and all those who had wished it away felt a morsel
of the guilt sticking to their fingers. They could not but speculate on the
identity of their deliverer, even while they shut their mouths and their eyes,
and put away all knowledge of their own suspicions, for fear of betraying them
to the law.

All through the routine of the day Cadfael pursued his
own thoughts, and they centred, inevitably, on Ailnoth’s death. No one would
tell Alan Herbard about Eadwin’s headland or Aelgar’s grievance, or the
unconsecrated grave of Centwin’s son, or any of the dozen or more other wounds
that had made Ailnoth a hated man, but there would be no need. Will Warden
would know them all already, and maybe other, lesser offences of which even the
abbot had not been told. Every one of those thus aggrieved would be examined as
to his movements on the eve of the Nativity, and Will would know where to look
for confirmation. And much as the Foregate might sympathise with whoever had
killed Ailnoth, and loyally as they would close round him and cover him, it was
nevertheless vital that the truth should be known, for there would be no real
peace of mind for anyone until it was discovered. That was the first reason why
Cadfael, almost against his will, wished for a solution. The second was for the
sake of Abbot Radulfus, who carried, in his own mind, a double guilt, for
bringing to the fold so ill-fitted a shepherd, and for suffering him to be done
to death by some enraged ram among the flock. Bitter though it may be to many,
Cadfael concluded, there is no substitute for truth, in this or any case.

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, and 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.”