There had been few direct questions asked, and few but oblique answers. Their conversation was often as devious as their relationship was easy and secure, but they understood each other.
“I hear you lost a horse while you were up on the borders,” said Beringar.
“Mea culpa!” owned Cadfael. “I left the stable unlocked.”
“About the same time as the Llansilin court lost a man,” observed Hugh.
“Well, you’re surely not blaming me for that. I found him for them, and then they couldn’t keep their hold on him.”
“I suppose they’ll have the price of the horse out of you, one way or the other?”
“No doubt it will come up at chapter tomorrow. No matter,” said Brother Cadfael placidly, “as long as no one here can dun me for the price of the man.”
“That can only be charged at another chapter. But it could come high.” But Hugh’s sharp, dark face behind the quivering vapour from the brazier was smiling. “I’ve been saving a piece of news for you, Cadfael, my friend. Every few days a new wonder out of Wales! Only yesterday I got word from Chester that a rider who gave no name came into one of the granges of the monastery of Beddgelert, and left there his horse, asking that the brothers would give it stable-room until it could be returned to the Benedictine brothers at the sheepfolds of Rhydycroesau, whence it had been borrowed. They don’t yet know of it at Rhydycroesau, for they had their first snow before us, up there in Arfon, and there was no chance of getting a messenger through overland, and I gather is none even yet. But the horse is there, and safe. Whoever the stranger was,” said Hugh innocently, “he must have left it there no more than two days after our own vanished malefactor made his confession in Penllyn. The word came by way of Bangor, when they could reach it, and by sea to Chester with one of the coastal boats. So it seems you’ll get a shorter penance than you bargained for.”
“Beddgelert, eh!” said Cadfael, pondering. “And left there on foot, it seems. Where do you suppose he was bound, Hugh? Clynnog or Caergybi, and oversea to Ireland?”
“Why not into the cells of the clas at Beddgelert?” Hugh suggested, smiling into his wine. “After all your buffeting around the world, you came into a like harbour.”
Cadfael stroked his cheeks thoughtfully. “No, not that. Not yet! He would not think he had paid enough for that, yet.”
Hugh gave a brisk bait of laughter, set down his cup, and got to his feet, clapping Cadfael heartily on the shoulder. “I’d better be off. Every time I come near you I find myself compounding a felony.”
“But it may end like that, some day,” said Cadfael seriously.
“In a felony?” Hugh looked back from the doorway, still smiling.
“In a vocation. More than one has gone from the one to the other, Hugh, and been profitable to the world in between.”
It was in the afternoon of the following day that Edwy and Edwin presented themselves at the door of the workshop, in their best, very well brushed and trimmed, and both looking slightly shocked into unusually discreet behaviour, at least at first. This subdued demeanour rendered them so alike that Cadfael had to look closely for the brown eyes and the hazel to be certain which of them was which. Their thanks were cheerfully and heartily expressed, their contentment had made total peace between them for the time being.
“This ceremonial finery,” said Cadfael, eyeing the pair of them with cautious benevolence, “can hardly be for me.”
“The lord abbot sent for me,” explained Edwin, his eyes rounding in awe at the recollection. “My mother made me put on my best. He only came with me out of curiosity, he wasn’t invited.”
“And he fell over his feet in the doorway,” Edwy countered promptly, “and blushed red as a cardinal’s hat.”
“I did not!”
“You did! You’re doing it now.” And indeed he was; the very suggestion produced the flooding crimson.
“So Abbot Radulfus sent for you,” said Cadfael. Clearing up unfinished business, he thought, and briskly, too. “And what did you think of our new abbot?”
Neither of these two was going to own to being impressed. They exchanged a considering glance, and Edwy said: “He was very fair. But I’m not sure I’d want to be a novice here.”
“He said,” reported Edwin, “that it would be matter for discussion with my mother, and with the lawmen, but clearly the manor can’t belong to the abbey, the agreement is void, and if the will is proven, and the earl of Chester confirms his assent as overlord, Mallilie will be mine, and until I’m of age the abbey will leave a steward there to manage it, and the lord abbot himself will be my guardian.”
“And what did you say to that?”
“I thanked him and said yes, very heartily. What else? Who knows better how to run a manor? I can learn all the art from them. And we are to return there, my mother and I, as soon as we wish, and that will be very soon, if we don’t get more snows.” Edwin’s eager brightness, though not dimmed, nevertheless grew very solemn. “Brother Cadfael, it was a terrible thing—about Meurig. Hard to understand …
Yes, for the young very hard, and almost impossible to forgive. But where there had been liking and trust there still remained a residue of unquenchable warmth, incompatible with the revulsion and horror he felt for a poisoner.
“I wouldn’t have let him have Mallilie without a fight,” said Edwin, dourly intent on absolute honesty. “But if he’d won, I don’t think I’d have grudged it to him. And if I’d won … I don’t know! He would never have shared it, would he? But I’m glad he got away! If that’s wicked, I can’t help it. I am glad!”
If it was wicked, he had company in his fault, but Cadfael said nothing of that.
“Brother Cadfael… . As soon as we’re home again in Mallilie, I mean to go and visit Ifor ap Morgan. He did give me the kiss when I asked him. I can be a kind of grandson.”
