had time, and into the bargain, here on the scene just prior to the disaster, and fresh from the infirmary, which he had visited before, and where the means to the end was to be found. And here was Richildis, between holding the sheriff’s sergeant fast with huge, challenging eyes, shooting desperate glances in Cadfael’s direction, crying out to him silently that he must help her, or her darling was deep in the mire! Silently, in turn, he willed her to spill out at once everything that could count against her son, leave nothing untold, for only so could she counter much of what might otherwise be alleged against him.
“It was the first time,” said Richildis. “And it was a most uneasy meeting, but it was for my sake’ Edwin sought it. Not because he hoped to change my husband’s mind, only to bring about peace for me. Meurig, here, has been trying to persuade him to visit us, and today he prevailed, and I’m grateful to him for his efforts. But my husband met the boy with illwill, and taunted him with coming courting for his promised manor—for it was promised!—when Edwin intended no such matter. Yes, there was a quarrel! They were two hasty people, and they ended with high words. And Edwin flung out, and my husband threw that platter after him—you see the shards there against the wall. That’s the whole truth of it, ask my servants. Ask Meurig, he knows. My son ran out of the house and back into Shrewsbury, I am sure, to where he now feels his home to be, with his sister and her family.”
“Let me understand you clearly,” said the sergeant, a thought too smoothly and reasonably. “Ran out of the house through the kitchen, you say?—where you three were sitting?” The turn of his head towards Aldith and the young men was sharp and intent, not smooth at all. “So you saw him leave the house, without pause on the way?”
All three hesitated a brief instant, each casting uncertain glances aside at the others, and that was a mistake. Aldith said for them all, resignedly: “When they began to shout and throw things, we all three ran in there, to try and calm the master down … or at least to …”
“To be there with me, and some comfort,” said Richildis.
“And there you remained after the boy had gone.” He was content with his guess, their faces confirmed it, however unwilling. “So I thought. It takes time to placate a very angry man. So none of you saw whether this young fellow paused in the kitchen, none of you can say he did not stop to take his revenge by dosing the dish of partridge. He had been in the infirmary that morning, as he had once before, he may well have known where to find this oil, and what its powers could be. He may have come to this dinner prepared either for peace or war, and failed of getting peace.”
Richildis shook her head vigorously. “You don’t know him! It was my peace he wanted to secure. And besides, it was no more than a few minutes before Aelfric ran out after him, to try to bring him back, and though he followed almost to the bridge, he could not overtake him.”
“It’s true,” said Aelfric. “He surely had no time to check at all. I ran like a hare and called after him, but he would not turn back.”
The sergeant was unconvinced. “How long does it take to empty a small vial into an open dish? One twirl of the spoon, and who was to know? And when your master was calm again, no doubt the prior’s gift made a very handy and welcome sop to his pride, and he ate it gladly.”
“But did this boy even know,” asked Cadfael, intervening very gingerly, “that the dish left in the kitchen was meant solely for Master Bonel? He would hardly risk harm to his mother.”
The sergeant was by that time too certain of his quarry to be impressed by any such argument. He eyed Aldith hard, and for all her resolution she paled a little.
“With such a strange gathering to wait on, was it likely the girl would miss the chance of a pleasant distraction for her master? When you went in to serve him his meat, did you not tell him of the prior’s kind attention, and make the most of the compliment to him, and the treat in store?”
She cast down her eyes and pleated the corner of her apron. “I thought it might sweeten him,” she said despairingly.
The sergeant had all he needed, or so he thought, to lay his hands promptly upon the murderer. He gave a final look round the shattered household, and said: “Well, I think you may put things in order here, I’ve seen all there is to be seen. Brother Infirmarer is prepared to help you take care of your dead. Should I need to question you further, I must be sure of finding you here.”
“Where else should we be?” asked Richildis bleakly. “What is it you mean to do? Will you at least let me know what happens, if you … if you should …” She could not put it into words. She stiffened her still straight and lissome back, and said with dignity: “My son has no part in this villainy, and so you will find. He is not yet fifteen years old, a mere child!”
“The shop of Martin Bellecote, you said.”
“I know it,” said one of the men-at-arms.
“Good! Show the way, and we’ll see what this lad has to say for himself.” And they turned confidently to the door and the highway.
Brother Cadfael saw fit to toss one disturbing ripple, at least, into the pool of their complacency. “There is the matter of a container for this oil. Whoever purloined it, whether from my store or from the infirmary, must have brought a vial to put it in. Meurig, did you see any sign of such about Edwin this morning? You came from the shop with him. In a pocket, or a pouch of cloth, even a small vial would hang in a noticeable way.”
“Never a sign of anything such,” said Meurig stoutly.
“And further, even well stoppered and tied down, such an oil is very penetrating, and can leave both a stain and an odour where even a drop seeps through or is left on the lip. Pay attention to the clothing of any man you think suspect in this matter.”
“Are you teaching me my business, brother?” enquired the sergeant with a tolerant grin.
“I am mentioning certain peculiarities about my business, which may be of help to you and keep you from error,” said Cadfael placidly.
“By your leave,” said the sergeant over his shoulder, from the doorway, “I think we’ll first lay hands on the culprit. I doubt if we shall need your learned advice, once we have him.” And he was off along the short path to the roadway where the horses were tethered, and his two men after him.
The sergeant and his men came to Martin Bellecote’s shop on the Wyle late in the afternoon. The carpenter, a big, comely fellow in his late thirties, looked up cheerfully enough from his work, and enquired their business without wonder or alarm. He had done work for Prestcote’s garrison once or twice, and the appearance of one of the sheriff’s officers in his workshop held no menace for him. A brown-haired, handsome wife looked out curiously
