‘And Meriet happened upon you in the act,’ said Hugh, quietly prompting.
‘I had cut away the shaft, the better to move him. There was blood on my hands-what else could he think? I swore it was not my work, but he did not believe me. He told me, go quickly, wash off the blood, go back to Roswitha, stay the day out, I will do what must be done. For our father’s sake, he said… he sets such store on you, he said, it would break his heart… And I did as he said! A jealous killing, he must have-thought… he never knew what I had-what we had-to cover up. I went from him and left him to be taken in guilt that was none of his…’ Tears sprang in Nigel’s eyes. He groped out blindly for any hand that would comfort him with a touch, and it was Meriet who suddenly dropped to his knees and took it. His face remained obstinately stern and ever more resembling his father’s, but still he accepted the fumbling hand and held it firmly.
‘Only late at night, when I went home, then I heard… How could I speak? It would have betrayed all… all… When Meriet was loosed out to us again, when he had given his pledge to take the cowl, then I did go to him,’ pleaded Nigel feebly. ‘I did offer… He would not let me meddle. He said he was resolved and willing, and I must let things be…’ ‘It is true,’ said Meriet. ‘I did so persuade him. Why make bad worse?’ ‘But he did not know of treason… I repent me,’ said Nigel, wringing at the hand he held in his, and subsiding into his welcome weakness, refuge from present harassment. ‘I do repent of what I have done to my father’s house…and most of all to Meriet… If I live, I will make amends…’ ‘He’ll live,’ said Cadfael, glad to escape from that dolorous bedside into the frosty air of the great court, and draw deep breaths to breathe forth again in silver mist. ‘Yes, and make good his present losses by mustering for King Stephen, if he can bear arms by the time his Grace moves north. It cannot be till after the feast, there’s an army to raise. And though I’m sure young Janyn meant murder, for it seems to come easily to him as smiling, his dagger went somewhat astray, and has done no mortal harm. Once we’ve fed and rested him, and made good the blood he’s lost, Nigel will be his own man again, and do his devoir for whoever can best vantage him. Unless you see fit to commit him for this treason?’ ‘In this mad age,’ said Hugh ruefully, ‘what is treason? With two monarchs in the field, and a dozen petty kings like Chester riding the tide, and even such as Bishop Henry hovering between two or three loyalties? No, let him lie, he’s small chaff, only a half-hearted traitor, and no murderer at all-that I believe, he would not have the stomach.’ Behind them Roswitha emerged from the infirmary, huddling her cloak about her against the cold, and crossed with a hasty step towards the guesthall. Even after abasement, abandonment and grief she had the resilience to look beautiful, though these two men, at least, she could now pass by hurriedly and with averted eyes.
‘Handsome is as handsome does,’ said Brother Cadfael somewhat morosely, looking after her. ‘Ah, well, they deserve each other. Let them end or mend together.’ Leoric Aspley requested audience of the abbot after Vespers of that day.
‘Father, there are yet two matters I would raise with you. There is this young brother of your fraternity at Saint Giles, who has been brother indeed to my son Meriet, beyond his brother in blood. My son tells me it is the heart’s wish of Brother Mark to be a priest. Surely he is worthy. Father, I offer whatever moneys may be needed to provide him the years of study that will bring him to his goal. If you will guide, I will pay all, and be his debtor still.’ ‘I have myself noted Brother Mark’s inclination,’ said the abbot, ‘and approved it. He has the heart of the matter in him. I will see him advanced, and take your offer willingly.’ ‘And the second thing,’ said Leoric, ‘concerns my sons, for I have learned by good and by ill that I have two, as a certain brother of this house has twice found occasion to remind me, and with good reason. My son Nigel is wed to a daughter of a manor now lacking another heir, and will therefore inherit through his wife, if he makes good his reparation for faults confessed. Therefore I intend to settle my manor of Aspley to my younger son Meriet. I mean to make my intent known in a charter, and beg you to be one of my witnesses.’ ‘With my goodwill,’ said Radulfus, gravely smiling, ‘and part with him gladly, to meet him in another fashion, outside this pale which never was meant to contain him.’ Brother Cadfael betook himself to his workshop that night before Compline, to make his usual nightly check that all was in order there, the brazier fire either out or so low that it presented no threat, all the vessels not in use tidied away, his current wines contentedly bubbling, the lids on all his jars and the stoppers in all his flasks and bottles. He was tired but tranquil, the world about him hardly more chaotic than it had been two days ago, and in the meantime the innocent delivered, not without great cost. For the boy had worshipped the easy, warm, kind brother so much more pleasing to the eye and so much more gifted in graces and physical accomplishments than ever he could be, so much more loved, so much more vulnerable and frail, if only the soul showed through. Worship was over now, but compassion and loyalty, even pity, can be just as enchaining. Meriet had been the last to leave Nigel’s sick-room. Strange to think that it must have cost Leoric a great pang of jealousy to leave him there so long, fettered to his brother and letting his father go. They had still some fearful lunges of adjustment to make between those three before all would be resolved. Cadfael sat down with a sigh in his dark hut, only a glowing spark in the brazier to keep him company. A quarter of an hour yet before Compline. Hugh was away home at last, shutting out for tonight the task of levying men for the king’s service. Christmas would come and go, and Stephen would move almost on its heels-that mild, admirable, lethargic soul of generous inclinations, stung into violent action by a blatantly treasonous act. He could move fast when he chose, his trouble was that his animosities died young. He could not really hate. And somewhere in the north, far towards his goal now, rode Janyn Linde, no doubt still smiling, whistling, light of heart, with his two unavoidable dead men behind him, and his sister, who had been nearer to him than any other human creature, nonetheless shrugged off like a split glove. Hugh would have Janyn Linde in his levelled eye, when he came with Stephen to Lincoln. A light young man with heavy enormities to answer for, and all to be paid, here or hereafter. Better here.
As for the villein Harald, there was a farrier on the town side of the western bridge willing to take him on, and as soon as the flighty public mind had forgotten him he would be quietly let out to take up honest work there. A year and a day in a charter borough, and he would be a free man.
Unwittingly Cadfael had closed his eyes for a few drowsing moments, leaning well back against his timber wall, with legs stretched out before him and ankles comfortably crossed. Only the momentary chill draught penetrated his half-sleep, and caused him to open his eyes. And they were there before him, standing hand in hand, very gravely smiling, twin images of indulgence to his age and cares, the boy become a man and the girl become what she had always been in the bud, a formidable woman. There was only the glow-worm spark of the dying brazier to light them, but they shone most satisfactorily.
Isouda loosed her playfellow’s hand and came forward to stoop and kiss Cadfael’s furrowed russet cheek.
‘Tomorrow early we are going home. There may be no chance then to say farewell properly. But we shall not be far away. Roswitha is staying with Nigel, and will take him home with her when he is well.’ The secret light played on the planes of her face, rounded and soft and strong, and found frets of scarlet in her mane of hair. Roswitha had never been as beautiful as this, the burning heart was wanting.
‘We do love you!’ said Isouda impulsively, speaking for both after her confident fashion, ‘You and Brother Mark!’ She swooped to cup his sleepy face in her hands for an instant, and quickly withdrew to surrender him generously to Meriet.
He had been out in the frost with her, and the cold had stung high colour into his cheeks. In the warmer air within the hut his dark, thick thatch of hair, still blessedly untonsured, dangled thawing over his brow, and he looked somewhat as Cadfael had first seen him, lighting down in the rain to hold his father’s stirrup, stubborn and dutiful, when those two, so perilously alike, had been at odds over a mortal issue. But the face beneath the damp locks was mature and calm now, even resigned, acknowledging the burden of a weaker brother in need of loyalty. Not for his disastrous acts, but for his poor, faulty flesh and spirit.
‘So we’ve lost you,’ said Cadfael. ‘If ever you’d come by choice I should have been glad of you, we can do with
