“It is. We’ll go south to Sutton, and then bear west and into the forest. You’ll have three miles or more to walk back by the shorter way. Without horses we may save a mile or so.”
“I think my legs will hold me up for that distance,” said Beringar demurely. “After Compline, then, at St Giles.” And without any further word or question he left Cadfael’s side, lengthening his easy stride to gain ground; for Aline Siward was just emerging from the doorway of her house and turning towards the abbey gateway on her way to church. Before she had gone many yards Beringar was at her elbow; she raised her head and smiled confidingly into his face. A creature quite without guile, but by no means without proper pride or shrewd sense, and she opened like a flower at sight of this young man devious as a serpent, whatever else of good or ill might be said of him. That, thought Cadfael, watching them walk before him in animated conversation, ought to signify something in his favour? Or was it only proof of her childlike trustfulness? Blameless young women have before now been taken in by black- hearted villains, even murderers; and black-hearted villains and murderers have been deeply devoted to blameless young women, contradicting their own nature in this one perverse tenderness.
Cadfael was consoled and cheered by the sight of Godith in church, nobody’s fool, nudging and whispering among the boys, and flicking him one rapid, questioning blue glance, which he answered with a reassuring nod and smile. None too well-founded reassurance, but somehow he would make it good. Admirable as Aline was, Godith was the girl for him. She reminded him of Arianna, the Greek boat-girl, long ago, skirts kilted above the knee, short hair a cloud of curls, leaning on her long oar and calling across the water to him …
Ah, well! The age he had been then, young Torold had not even reached yet. These things are for the young. Meantime, tonight after Compline, at St Giles!
Chapter Seven
The ride out through Sutton into the Long Forest, dense and primitive through all but the heathy summits of its fifteen square miles, was like a sudden return visit to aspects of his past, night raids and desperate ambushes once so familiar to him as to be almost tedious, but now, in this shadowy, elderly form, as near excitement as he wished to come. The horse under -him was lofty and mettlesome and of high pedigree, he had not been astride such a creature for nearly twenty years, and the flattery and temptation reminded him of days past, when exalted and venturesome companions made all labours and privations pleasurable.
Hugh Beringar, once away from the used roads and into the trees and the night shadows, seemed to have no cares in the world, certainly no fear of any treachery on his companion’s part. He chattered, even, to pass the time along the way, curious about Brother Cadfael’s uncloistral past, and about the countries he had known as well as he knew this forest.
“So you lived in the world all those years, and saw so much of it, and never thought to marry? And half the world women, they say?” The light voice, seemingly idle and faintly mocking, nevertheless genuinely questioned and required an answer.
“I had thought to marry, once,” said Cadfael honestly, “before I took the Cross, and she was a very fair woman, too, but to say truth, I forgot her in the east, and in the west she forgot me. I was away too long, she gave up waiting and married another man, small blame to her.”
“Have you ever seen her again?” asked Hugh.
“No, never. She has grandchildren by now, may they be good to her. She was a fine woman, Richildis.”
“But the east was also made up of men and women, and you a young crusader. I cannot but wonder,” said Beringar dreamily.
“So, wonder! I also wonder about you,” said Cadfael mildly. “Do you know any human creatures who are not strangers, one to another?”
A faint gleam of light showed among the trees. The lay brothers sat up late with a reed dip, Cadfael suspected playing at dice. Why not? The tedium here must be extreme. They were bringing these decent brothers a little diversion, undoubtedly welcome.
That they were alive and alert to the slightest sound of an unexpected approach was soon proved, as both emerged ware and ready in the doorway. Brother Anselm loomed huge and muscular, like an oak of his own fifty- five years, and swung a long staff in one hand. Brother Louis, French by descent but born in England, was small and wiry and agile, and in this solitude kept a dagger by him, and knew how to use it. Both of them came forth prepared for anything, placid of face and watchful of eye; but at sight of Brother Cadfael they fell to an easy grinning.
“What, is it you, old comrade? A pleasure to see a known face, but we hardly looked for you in the middle of the night. Are you biding over until tomorrow? Where’s your errand?” They looked at Beringar with measuring interest, but he left it to Cadfael to do the dealing for him here, where the abbey’s writ ran with more force than the king’s.
“Our errand’s here, to you,” said Cadfael, lighting down. “My lord here asks that you’ll give stabling and shelter for a few days to these two beasts, and keep them out of the public eye.” No need to bide the reason from these two, who would have sympathised heartily with the owner of such horseflesh in his desire to keep it. “They’re commandeering baggage horses for the army, and that’s no fit life for these fellows, they’ll be held back to serve in a better fashion.”
Brother Anselm ran an appreciative eye over Beringar’s mount, and an affectionate hand over the arched neck. “A long while since the stable here had such a beauty in it! Long enough since it had any at all, barring Prior Robert’s mule when he visited, and he does that very rarely now. We expect to be recalled, to tell truth, this place is too isolated and unprofitable to be kept much longer. Yes, we’ll give you house-room, my fine lad, gladly, and your mate, too. All the more gladly, my lord, if you’ll let me get my leg across him now and again by way of exercise.”
“I think he may carry even you without trouble,” acknowledged Beringar amiably. “And surrender them to no one but myself or Brother Cadfael.”
“That’s understood. No one will set eyes on them here.” They led the horses into the deserted stable, very content with the break in their tedious existence, and with Beringar’s open-handed largesse for their services. “Though we’d have taken them in for the pleasure of it,” said Brother Louis truthfully. “I was groom once in Earl Robert of Gloucester’s household, I love a fine horse, one with a gloss and a gait to do me credit.”
Cadfael and Hugh Beringar turned homeward together on foot. “An hour’s walking, hardly more,” said Cadfael, “by the way I’ll take you. The path’s too overgrown in parts for the horses, but I know it well, it cuts off the Foregate. We have to cross the brook, well upstream from the mill, and can enter the abbey grounds from the garden side, unnoticed, if you’re willing to wade.”
“I believe,” said Beringar reflectively, but with complete placidity, “you are having a game with me. Do you mean to lose me in the woods, or drown me in the millrace?”
