erect, stretching lazily, and drifted at an oblique angle towards the path on which they walked, his course converging with theirs. Hugh Beringar, his stride nicely calculated to look accidental and yet bring him athwart their path at the right moment, showed them a placid and amiable face, recognising Cadfael with pleasure, accepting his attendant boy with benevolence.
“A very fair evening, brother! You’re bound for Vespers? So am I. We may walk together?”
“Very gladly,” said Cadfael heartily. He tapped Godith on the shoulder, and handed her the small sacking bundle that held his herbs and dressings. “Run ahead, Godric, and put these away for me, and come down to Vespers with the rest of the boys. You’ll save my legs, and have time to give a stir to that lotion I have been brewing. Go on, child, run!”
And Godith clasped the bundle and ran, taking good care to run like an athletic boy, rattling one hand along the tall stubble, and whistling as she went, glad enough to put herself out of that young man’s sight. Her own eyes and mind were full of another young man.
“A most biddable lad you have,” said Hugh Beringar benignly, watching her race ahead.
“A good boy,” said Cadfael placidly, matching him step for step across the field blanched to the colour of cream. “He has a year’s endowment with us, but I doubt if he’ll take the cowl. But he’ll have learned his letters, and figuring, and a good deal about herbs and medicines, it will stand him in good stead. You’re at leisure today, my lord?”
“Not so much at leisure,” said Hugh Beringar with equal serenity, “as in need of your skills and knowledge. I tried your garden first, and not finding you there, thought you might have business today over here in the main gardens and orchard. But for want of a sight of you anywhere, I sat down to enjoy the evening sunshine, here by the river. I knew you’d come to Vespers, but never realised you had fields beyond here. Js all the corn brought in now?”
“All that we have here. The sheep will be grazing the stubble very shortly. What was it you wanted of me, my lord? If I may serve you in accord with my duty, be sure I will.”
“Yesterday morning, Brother Cadfael, I asked you if you would give any request of mine fair consideration, and you told me you give fair consideration to all that you do. And I believe it. I had in mind what was then no more than a rumoured threat, now it’s a real one. I have reason to know that King Stephen is already making plans to move on, and means to make sure of his supplies and his mounts. The siege of Shrewsbury has cost him plenty, and he now has more mouths to feed and more men to mount. It’s not generally known, or too many would be taking thought to evade it, as I am,” owned Beringar blithely, “but he’s about to issue orders to have every homestead in the town searched, and a tithe of all fodder and provisions in store commandeered for the army’s use. And all — mark that, all — the good horses to be found, no matter who owns them, that are not already in army or garrison service. The abbey stables will not be exempt.”
This Cadfael did not like at all. It came far too pat, a shrewd thrust at his own need of horses, and most ominous indication that Hugh Beringar, who had this information in advance of the general citizens, might also be as well informed of what went on in other quarters. Nothing this young man said or did would ever be quite what it seemed, but whatever game he played would always be his own game. The less said in reply, at this stage, the better. Two could play their own games, and both, possibly, benefit. Let him first say out what he wanted, even if what he said would have to be scrutinised from all angles, and subjected to every known test.
“That will be bad news to Brother Prior,” said Cadfael mildly.
“It’s bad news to me,” said Beringar ruefully. “For I have four horses in those same abbey stables, and while I might have a claim to retain them all for myself and my men, once the king has given me his commission, I can’t make any such claim at this moment with security. It might be allowed, it might not. And to be open with you, I have no intention of letting my two best horses be drafted for the king’s army. I want them out of here and in some private place, where they can escape Prestcote’s foraging parties, until this flurry is over.”
“Only two?” said Cadfael innocently. “Why not all?”
“Oh, come, I know you have more cunning than that. Would I be here without horses at all? If they found none of mine, they’d be hunting for all, and small chance I’d have left for royal favour. But let them take the two nags, and they won’t question further. Two I can afford. Brother Cadfael, it takes no more than a few days in this place to know that you are the man to take any enterprise in hand, however rough and however risky.” His voice was brisk and bland, even hearty, he seemed to intend no double meanings. “The lord abbot turns to you when he’s faced with an ordeal beyond his powers. I turn to you for practical help. You know all this countryside. Is there a place of safety where my horses can lie up for a few days, until this round-up is over?”
So improbable a proposal Cadfael had not looked for, but it came as manna from heaven. Nor did he hesitate long over taking advantage of it for his own ends. Even if lives had not depended on the provision of those two horses, he was well aware that Beringar was making use of him without scruple, and he need have no scruples about doing as much in return. It went a little beyond that, even, for he had a shrewd suspicion that at this moment Beringar knew far too much of what was going on in his, Cadfael’s mind, and had no objection whatever to any guesses Cadfael might be making as to what was going on in his, Beringar’s. Each of us, he thought, has a hold of sorts upon the other, and each of us has a reasonable insight into the other’s methods, if not motives. It will be a fair fight. And yet this debonair being might very well be the murderer of Nicholas Faintree. That would be a very different duel, with no quarter asked or offered. In the meantime, make the most of what might or might not be quite accidental circumstances.
“Yes,” said Cadfael, “I do know of such a place.”
Beringar did not even ask him where, or question his judgment as to whether it would be remote enough and secret enough to be secure. “Show me the way tonight,” he said outright, and smiled into Cadfael’s face. “It’s tonight or never, the order will be made public tomorrow. If you and I can make the return journey on foot before morning, ride with me. Rather you than any!”
Cadfael considered ways and means; there was no need to consider what his answer would be.
“Better get your horses out after Vespers, then, out to St Giles. I’ll join you there when Compline is over, it will be getting dark then. It wouldn’t do for me to be seen riding out with you, but you may exercise your own horses in the evening as the fit takes you.”
“Good!” said Beringar with satisfaction. “Where is this place? Have we to cross the river anywhere?”
“No, nor even the brook. It’s an old grange the abbey used to maintain in the Long Forest, out beyond Pulley. Since the times grew so unchancy we’ve withdrawn all our sheep and cattle from there, but keep two lay brothers still -in the house. No one will look for horses there, they know it’s all but abandoned. And the lay brothers will credit what I say.”
“And St Giles is on our way?” It was a chapel of the abbey, away at the eastern end of the Foregate.
