and how are we ever to get out of it?’ ‘If I could reach her, I could persuade her. In the end she would listen. She’ll have remembered me better by now, she’ll know she wrongs me. She’d go with me. If only I could reach her…’ ‘But you’re pledged, as I am,’ said Eliud flatly. ‘We’ve given our word, and it was freely accepted. Neither you nor I can stir a foot out of the gates without being dishonoured.’ ‘No,’ agreed Elis miserably, and fell silent and still, staring into the darkness of the shallow vault over them.
CHAPTER TEN.
BROTHER CADFAEL ARRIVED IN OSWESTRY BY EVENING, to find town and castle alert and busy, but Hugh Beringar already departed. He had moved east after his meeting with Owain Gwynedd, they told him, to Whittington and Ellesmere, to see his whole northern border stiffened and call up fresh levies as far away as Whitchurch. While Owain had moved north on the border to meet the constable of Chirk and see that corner of the confederacy secure and well, manned. There had been some slight brushes with probing parties from Cheshire, but so tentative that it was plain Ranulf was feeling his way with caution, testing to see how well organised the opposition might prove to be. So far he had drawn off at the first encounter. He had made great gains at Lincoln and had no intention of endangering them now, but a very human desire to add to them if he found his opponents unprepared.
‘Which he will not,’ said the cheerful sergeant who received Cadfael into the castle and saw his horse stabled and the rider well entertained. ‘The earl is no madman to shove his fist into a hornets’ nest. Leave him one weak place he can gnaw wider and he’d be in, but we’re leaving him none. He thought he might do well, knowing Prestcote was gone. He thought our lad would be green and easy. He’s learning different! And if these Welsh of Powys have an ear pricked this way, they should also take the omens. But who’s to reason what the Welsh will do? This Owain, now, he’s a man on his own. Straw, gold like a Saxon, and big! What’s such a one doing in Wales?’ ‘He came here?’ asked Cadfael, feeling his Cambrian blood stir in welcome.
‘Last night, to sup with Beringar, and rode for Chirk at dawn. Welsh and English will man that fortress instead of fighting over it. There’s a marvel!’ Cadfael pondered his errands and considered time. ‘Where would Hugh Beringar be this night, do you suppose?’ ‘At Ellesmere, most like. And tomorrow at Whitchurch. The next day before we should look for him back here. He means to meet again with Owain, and make his way down the border after, if all goes well here.’ ‘And if Owain lies at Chirk tonight, where will he be bound tomorrow?’ ‘He has his camp still at Tregeiriog, with his friend Tudur ap Rhys. It’s there he’s called whatever new levies come in to his border service.’ So he must keep touch there always, in order to deploy his forces wherever they might be needed. And if he returned there the next night, so would Einon ab Ithel.
‘I’ll sleep the night here,’ said Cadfael, ‘and tomorrow I’ll also make for Tregeiriog. I know the maenol and its lord. I’ll wait for Owain there. And do you let Hugh Beringar know that the Welsh of Powys are in the field again, as I’ve told you. Small harm yet, and should there be worse, Herbard will send word here. But if this border holds fast, and bloodies Chester’s nose wherever he ventures it, Madog ap Meredith will also learn sense.’ This extreme border castle of Oswestry, with its town, was the king’s, but the manor of Maesbury, of which it had become the head, was Hugh’s own native place, and there was no man here who did not hold with him and trust him. Cadfael felt the solid security of Hugh’s name about him, and a garrison doubly loyal, to Stephen and to Hugh. It was a good feeling, all the more now that Owain Gwynedd spread the benign shadow of his hand over a border that belonged by location to Powys. Cadfael slept well after hearing Compline in the castle chapel, rose early, took food and drink, and crossed the great dyke into Wales.
He had all but ten miles to go to Tregeiriog, winding all the way through the enclosing hills, always with wooded slopes one side or the other or both, and in open glimpses the bald grass summits leaning to view, and a sky veiled and still and mild overhead. Not mountain country, not the steel, blue rocks of the north, west, but hill, country always, with limited vistas, leaning hangers of woodland, closed valleys that opened only at the last moment to permit another curtained view. Before he drew too close to Tregeiriog the expected pickets heaved out of the low brush, to challenge, recognise and admit him. His Welsh tongue was the first safe, conduct, and stood him in good stead.
All the colours had changed since last he rode down the steep hillside into Tregeiriog. Round the brown, timbered warmth of maenol and village beside the river, the trees had begun to soften their skeletal blackness with a delicate pale, green froth of buds, and on the lofty, rounded summits beyond the snow was gone, and the bleached pallor of last year’s grass showed the same elusive tint of new life. Through the browned and rotting bracken the first fronds uncurled. Here it was already Spring.
At the gate of Tudur’s maenol they knew him, and came readily to lead him in and take charge of his horse. Not Tudur himself, but his steward, came to welcome the guest and do the honours of the house. Tudur was with the prince, doubtless at this hour on his way back from Chirk. In the cleft of the tributary brook behind the maenol the turfed camp, fires of his border levies gave off blue wisps of smoke on the still air. By evening the hall would again be Owain’s court, and all his chief captains in this border patrol mustered about his table.
Cadfael was shown to a small chamber within the house, and offered the ceremonial water to wash off the dust of travel from his feet. This time it was a maid, servant who waited upon him, but when he emerged into the court it was to see Cristina advancing upon him in a flurry of blown skirts and flying hair from the kitchens.
‘Brother Cadfael… it is you! They told me,’ she said, halting before him breathless and intent,’there was a brother come from Shrewsbury, I hoped it might be you. You know them, you can tell me the truth… about Elis and Eliud…’ ‘What have they already told you?’ asked Cadfael. ‘Come within, where we can be quiet, and what I can tell you, that I will, for I know you must have been in bitter anxiety.’ But for all that, he thought ruefully, as she turned willingly and led the way into the hall, if he made that good, and told all he knew, it would be little to her comfort. Her betrothed, for whom she was contending so fiercely with so powerful a rival, was not only separated from her until proven innocent of murder, but disastrously in love with another girl as he had never been with her. What can you say to such a misused lady? Yet it would be infamous to lie to Cristina, just as surely as it would be cruel to bludgeon her with the blunt truth. Somewhere between the two he must pick his way.
She drew him with her into a corner of the hall, remote and shadowed at this hour when most of the men were out about their work, and there they sat down together against smoky tapestries, her black hair brushing his shoulder as she poured out what she knew and begged for what she needed to know.
‘The English lord died, that I know, before ever Einon ab Ithel was ready to leave, and they are saying it was no simple death from his wounds, and all those who are not proven blameless must stay there as prisoners and suspect murderers, until the guilt is proven on some one man, English or Welsh, lay or brother, who knows? And here we must wait also. But what is being done to set them free? How are you to find the guilty one? Is all this true? I know Einon came back and spoke with Owain Gwynedd, and I know the prince will not receive his men back until they are cleared of all blame. He says he sent back a dead man, and a dead man cannot buy back one living. And moreover, that your dead man’s ransom must be a life, the life of his murderer. Do you believe any man of ours owes that debt?’ ‘I dare not say there is any man who might not kill, given some monstrous, driving need,’ said Cadfael honestly.
‘Or any woman, either,’ she said with a fierce, helpless sigh. ‘But you have not fixed on any one man for this deed? No finger has been pointed? Not yet?’ No, of course she did not know. Einon had left before ever Melicent cried out both her love and her hatred, accusing Elis. No further news had yet reached these parts. Even if Hugh had now spoken of this matter with the prince, no such word had yet found its way back here to Tregeiriog. But surely it would, when Owain returned. In the end she would hear how her betrothed had fallen headlong in love with another woman, and been accused by her of her father’s murder, murder for love that put an end to love. And
