remounts and his confiscated provisions, was about to move south towards Worcester, to attempt inroads into the western stronghold of Earl Robert of Gloucester, the Empress Maud’s half-brother and loyal champion. The vanguard of his army was to march the next day, and the king himself, with his personal guard, was moving today into Shrewsbury castle for two nights, to inspect and secure his defences there, before marching after the vanguard. He was well satisfied with the results of his foraging, and disposed to forget any remaining grudges, for he had invited to his table at the castle, this Tuesday evening, both Abbot Heribert and Prior Robert, and in the flurry of preparation minor sins were overlooked.
Cadfael repaired thankfully to his workshop, and lay down and slept on Godith’s bed until Hugh Beringar came to wake him. Hugh had the topaz in his hand, and his face was grave and tired, but serene.
“It is hers. She took it in her hands gladly, knowing it for her own. I thought there could not be two such. Now I am going to the castle, for the king’s party are already moving in there, and Ten Heyt and his Flemings will be with him. I mean to find the man, whoever he may be, who filched that dagger after Giles was dead. Then we shall know we are not far from your murderer. Cadfael, can you not get Abbot Heribert to bring you with him to the castle this evening? He must have an attendant, why not you? He turns to you willingly, if you ask, he’ll jump at you. Then if I have anything to tell, you’ll be close by.”
Brother Cadfael yawned, groaned and kept his eyes open unwillingly on the young, dark face that leaned over him, a face of tight, bright lines now, fierce and bleak, a hunting face. He had won himself a formidable ally.
“A small, mild curse on you for waking me,” he said, mumbling, “but I’ll come.”
“It was your own cause,” Beringar reminded him, smiling.
“It is my cause. Now for the love of God, go away and let me sleep away dinner, and afternoon and all, you’ve cost me hours enough to shorten my life, you plague.”
Hugh Beringar laughed, though it was a muted and burdened laugh this time, marked a cross lightly on Cadfael’s broad brown forehead, and left him to his rest.
Chapter Eleven
A server for every plate was required at the king’s supper. It was no problem to suggest to Abbot Heribert that the brother who had coped with the matter of the mass burial, and even talked with the king concerning the unlicensed death, should be on hand with him to be questioned at need. Prior Robert took with him his invariable toady and shadow, Brother Jerome, who would certainly be indefatigable with finger-bowl, napkin and pitcher throughout, a great deal more assiduous than Cadfael, whose mind might well be occupied elsewhere. They were old enemies, in so far as Brother Cadfael entertained enmities. He abhorred a sickly-pale tonsure.
The town was willing to put on a festival face, not so much in the king’s honour as in celebration of the fact that the king was about to depart, but the effect was much the same. Edric Flesher had come down to the high street from his shop to watch the guests pass by, and Cadfael flashed him a ghost of a wink, by way of indication that they would have things to discuss later, things so satisfactory that they could well be deferred. He got a huge grin and a wave of a meaty hand in response, and knew his message had been received. Petronilla would weep for her lamb’s departure, but rejoice for her safe delivery and apt escort. I must go there soon, he thought, as soon as this last duty is done.
Within the town gate Cadfael had seen the blind old man sitting almost proudly in Giles Siward’s good cloth hose, holding out his palm for alms with a dignified gesture. At the high cross he saw the little old woman clasping by the hand her feeble-wit grandson with his dangling lip, and the fine brown cotte sat well on him, and gave him an air of rapt content by its very texture. Oh, Aline, you ought to give your own charity, and see what it confers, beyond food and clothing!
Where the causeway swept up from the street to the gate of the castle, the beggars who followed the king’s camp had taken up new stations, hopeful and expectant, for the king’s justiciar, Bishop Robert of Salisbury, had arrived to join his master, and brought a train of wealthy and important clerics with him. In the lee of the gate- house wall Lame Osbern’s little trolley was drawn up, where he could beg comfortably without having to move. The worn wooden pattens he used for his callused knuckles lay tidily beside him on the trolley, on top of the folded black cloak he would not need until night fell. It was so folded that the bronze clasp at the neck showed up proudly against the black, the dragon of eternity with his tail in his mouth.
Cadfael let the others go on through the gates, and halted to say a word to the crippled man. “Well, how have you been since last I saw you by the king’s guard-post? You have a better place here.”
“I remember you,” said Osbern, looking up at him with eyes remarkably clear and innocent, in a face otherwise as misshapen as his body. “You are the brother who brought me the cloak.”
“And has it done you good service?”
“It has, and I have prayed for the lady, as you asked. But, brother, it troubles me, too. Surely the man who wore it before me is dead. Is it so?”
“He is,” said Cadfael, “but that should not trouble you. The lady who sent it to you is his sister, and trust me, her giving blesses the gift. Wear it, and take comfort.”
He would have walked on then, but a hasty hand caught at the skirt of his habit, and Osbern besought him pleadingly: “But, brother, I go in dread that I bear some guilt. For I saw the man, living, with this cloak about him, hale as I…”
“You saw him?” echoed Cadfael on a soundless breath, but the anxious voice had ridden over him and rushed on.
“It was in the night, and I was cold, and I thought to myself, I wish the good God would send me such a cloak to keep me warm! Brother, thought is also prayer! And no more than three days later God did indeed send me this very cloak. You dropped it into my arms! How can I be at peace? The young man gave me a groat that night, and asked me to say a prayer for him on the morrow, and so I did. But how if my first prayer made the second of none effect? How if I have prayed a man into his grave to get myself a cloak to wear?”
Cadfael stood gazing at him amazed and mute, feeling the chill of ice flow down his spine. The man was sane, clear of mind and eye, he knew very well what he was saying, and his trouble of heart was real and deep, and must be the first consideration, whatever else followed.
“Put all such thoughts out of your mind, friend,” said Cadfael firmly, “for only the devil can have sent them. If God gave you the thing for which you wished, it was to save one morsel of good out of a great evil for which you are no way to blame. Surely your prayers for the former wearer are of aid even now to his soul. This young man was one of FitzAlan’s garrison here, done to death after the castle fell, at the king’s orders. You need have no fears, his death is not at your door, and no sacrifice of yours could have saved him.”
