Girard owned it regretfully. “But the abbot gave us leave to come and see you, and tell you what I propose for you, so that you may at least know you have friends who are stirring for you. Every voice raised in your support must be of some help. I’ve told you what I am keeping for you. Now Fortunata has somewhat to say to you on her own account.”
Girard on entering had sensibly laid down the burden he was carrying upon the pallet beside Elave. Fortunata stirred out of her tranced stillness, and leaned to take it up and sit down beside him, nursing the box on her knees.
“You remember how you brought this to our house? Father and I brought it here today to pledge as bail for your release, but they would not let you go. But if we could not buy your liberty with it one way,” she said in a low, deliberate voice, “there are other ways. Remember what I said to you when last we were together.”
“I do remember,” he said.
“Such matters need money,” said Fortunata, choosing her words with aching care. “Uncle William sent me a lot of money. I want it to be used for you. In whatever way may be needful. You’ve given no parole now. The one you did give they violated, not you.”
Girard laid a restraining hand upon her arm, and said in a warning whisper, which nevertheless found a betraying echo from the stone walls: “Gently, my girl! Walls have ears!”
“But no tongues,” said Cadfael as softly. “No, speak freely, child, it’s not me you need fear. Say all you have to say to him, and let him answer you. Expect no interference from me, one way or the other.”
For answer Fortunata took up the box she was nursing, and thrust it into Elave’s hands. Cadfael heard the infintesimal chink of small coins shifting, and turned his head in time to see the slight start Elave made as he received the weight, the stiffening of the young man’s shoulders and the sharp contraction of his brows. He saw him tilt the box between his hands to elicit a fainter echo of the same sound, and weigh it thoughtfully on his palms.
“It was money Master William sent you?” said Elave consideringly. “I never knew what was in it. But it’s yours. He sent it for you, I brought it here for you.”
“If it profits you, it profits me,” said Fortunata. “Yes, I will say what I came to say, even though I know Father does not approve. I don’t trust them to do you justice. I am afraid for you. I want you far away from here, and safe. This money is mine, I may do what I choose with it. It can buy a horse, shelter, food, perhaps even a man to turn the key and open the door. I want you to accept it?to accept the use of it, and whatever I can buy with it for you. I’m not afraid, except for you. I’m not ashamed. And wherever you may go, however far, I’ll follow you.”
She had begun in a bleak, defiant calm, but she ended with contained and muted passion, her voice still level and low, her hands clenched together in her lap, her face very pale and fierce. Elave’s hand shook as he closed it tightly over hers, pushing the box aside on his bed. After a long pause, not of hesitation, rather of an unbending resolution that had difficulty in finding the clearest but least hurtful words in which to express himself, he said quietly: “No! I cannot take it, or let you make such use of it for my sake. You know why. I have not changed, I shall not change. If I ran away from this charge I should be opening the door to devils, ready to bay after other honest men. If this fight is not fought out to the end now, heresy can be cried against anyone who offends his neighbor, so easy it is to accuse when there are those willing to condemn for a doubt, for a question, for a word out of place. And I will not give way. I will not budge until they come to me and tell me they find no blame in me, and ask me civilly to come forth and go my way.”
She had known all along, in spite of her persistence, that he would say no. She withdrew her hand from his very slowly, and rose to her feet, but could not for a moment bring herself to turn away from him, even when Girard took her gently by the arm.
“But then,” said Elave deliberately, his eyes holding hers, “then I will take your gift?if I can also have the bride who comes with it.”
Chapter Eleven
I have a request to make of you, fortunata,” said Cadfael, as he crossed the great court between the silent visitors, the girl disconsolate, her foster father almost certainly relieved at Elave’s dogged insistence on remaining where he was and relying on justice. Girard undoubtedly believed in justice. “Will you allow me to show this box to Brother Anselm? He’s well versed in all the crafts, and may be able to say where it came from, and how old it is. I should be interested to see for what purpose he thinks it was made. You certainly can’t lose by it, Anselm carries weight as an obedientiary, and he’s well disposed to Elave already. Have you time now to come to the scriptorium with me? You may like to know more about your box. It surely has a value in itself.”
She gave her assent almost absently, her thoughts still left behind with Elave.
“The lad needs all the friends he can get,” said Girard ruefully. “I had hoped that now the worse charge has fallen to the ground, those who blamed him for all might feel some shame, and soften even on the other charge. But here’s this great prelate from Canterbury claiming that overbold thinking about belief is worse than murder. What sort of values are those? I don’t know but I’d help the boy to a horse myself if he’d agree, but I’d rather my girl had no part in it.”
“He will not let me have any part,” said Fortunata bitterly.
“And I think the more of him for it! And what I can do within the law to haul him safely out of this coil, that I’ll do, at whatever cost. If he’s the man you want, as it seems he wants you, then neither of you shall want in vain,” said Girard roundly.
Brother Anselm had his workshop in a corner carrel of the north walk of the cloister, where he kept the manuscripts of his music in neat and loving store. He was busy mending the bellows of his little portative organ when they walked in upon him, but he set it aside willingly enough when he saw the box Girard laid before him. He took it up and turned it about in the best light, to admire the delicacy of the carving, and the depth of color time had given to the wood.
“This is a beautiful thing! He was a true craftsman who made it. See the handling of the ivory, the great round brow, as if the carver had first drawn a circle to guide him, and then drawn in the lines of age and thought. I wonder what saint is pictured here? An elder, certainly. It could be Saint John Chrysostom.” He followed the whorls and tendrils of the vine leaves with a thin, appreciative fingertip. “Where did he pick up such a thing, I wonder?”
“Elave told me,” said Cadfael, “that William bought it in a market in Tripoli, from some fugitive monks driven out of their monasteries, somewhere beyond Edessa, by raiders from Mosul. You think it was made there, in the east?”
