seen.
A tall man, the hermit, long-legged, long-bodied, lean and straight, his coarse dark habit kilted to his knees, and the cowl flung back on his shoulders. He saw them coming and straightened up from his labours with the mattock still in his hands, and showed them a strong, fleshless face, olive-skinned and deep-eyed, framed in a thick bush of dark hair and beard. He looked from one to the other of them, and acknowledged Hugh’s reverence with a deep inclination of his head, without lowering his eyes.
‘If your errand is to Cuthred the hermit,’ he said in a deep and resonant voice, and with assured authority, ‘come in and welcome. I am he.’ And to Cadfael, after studying his face for a moment: ‘I think I saw you at Eaton when the lord Richard was buried. You are a brother of Shrewsbury.’
‘I am,’ said Cadfael. ‘I was there in the boy’s escort. And this is Hugh Beringar, sheriff of this shire.’
‘The lord sheriff does me honour,’ said Cuthred. ‘Will you enter my cell?’ And he loosed his frayed rope girdle and shook down the skirt of his habit to his feet, and led the way within. The thick tangle of his hair brushed the stone above the doorway as he entered. He stood a good head taller than either of his visitors.
In the dim living room there was one narrow window that let in the afternoon light, and a small stir of breeze that brought in the scent of mown herbage and moist autumn leaves. Through the doorless opening into the chapel within they saw all that Drogo had seen, the stone slab of the altar with its carved casket, the silver cross and candlesticks, and the open breviary lying before the small spark of the lamp. The hermit followed Hugh’s glance to the open book and, entering, closed it reverently, and laid it with loving care in accurate alignment with the forward edge of the reliquary. The fine gilt ornament and delicate tooling of the leather binding gleamed in the small light of the lamp.
‘And how may I be of service to the lord sheriff?’ asked Cuthred, his face still turned towards the altar.
‘I need to ask you some few questions,’ said Hugh with deliberation, ‘in the matter of a murdered man.’
That brought the lofty head round in haste, staring aghast and astonished. ‘Murdered? Here and now? I know of none. Say plainly what you mean, my lord.’
‘Last night a certain Drogo Bosiet, a guest at the abbey, set out to visit you, at the prompting of one of the brothers. He came here in search of a runaway villein, a young man of about twenty years, and his intent was to view your boy Hyacinth, being a stranger and of the right age and kind, and see whether he is or is not the bondman who ran away from Bosiet. Did he ever reach you? By the time he had ridden this far it would already be evening.’
‘Why, yes, such a man did come,’ said Cuthred at once, ‘though I did not ask his name. But what has this to do with murder? A murdered man, you said.’
‘This same Drogo Bosiet, on his way back towards the town and the abbey, was stabbed in the back and left beside the track, a mile or more from here. Brother Cadfael found him dead and his horse wandering loose, last night in the full dark.’
The hermit’s deep-set eyes, flaring reddish in their gaunt sockets, flashed from one face to the other in incredulous questioning. ‘Hard to believe, that there could be cutthroats and masterless men here, in this well- farmed, well-managed country?within your writ, my lord, and so near the town. Can this be what it seems, or is there worse behind it? Was the man robbed?’
‘He was, of his saddle-roll, whatever that may have held. But not of his ring, not of his gown. What was done was done in haste.’
‘Masterless men would have stripped him naked,’ said Cuthred with certainty. ‘I do not believe this forest is shelter for outlaws. This is some very different matter.’
‘When he came to you,’ said Hugh, ‘what did he have to say? And what followed?’
‘He came when I was saying Vespers, here in the chapel. He entered and said that he had come to see the boy who runs my errands, and that I might find I had been deceived into taking a villain into my employ. For he was seeking a runaway serf, and had been told that there was one here of the right age, newly come and a stranger to all, who might well be his man. He told me whence he came, and in what direction he had reason to believe his fugitive had fled. These things, and the time, fitted all too well for my peace of mind with the time and place where first I met and pitied Hyacinth. But it was not put to the test,’ said Cuthred simply. ‘The boy was not here. A good hour earlier I had sent him on an errand to Eaton. He did not come back. He has not come back even today. Now I doubt much if he ever will.’
‘You do believe,’ said Hugh, ‘that he is this Brand.’
‘I cannot judge. But I saw that he well might be. And when he failed to come back to me last night, then I felt it must be so. It is no part of my duty to give up any man to retribution, that is God’s business. I was glad I could not say yes or no, and glad he was not here to be seen.’
‘But if he had simply got wind of the search for him, and kept out of the way,’ said Cadfael, ‘he would have come back to you by now. The man who hunted him had gone away empty-handed, and if another visit threatened, he could do as much again, provided you did not betray him. Where else would he be so safe as with a holy hermit? But still he has not come.’
‘But now you tell me,’ said Cuthred gravely, ‘that his master is dead?if this man was indeed his lord. Dead and murdered! Say that my servant Hyacinth had got wind of Bosiet’s coming, and did more than absent himself. Say that he thought it better to lie in ambush and end the search for him once for all! No, I do not think now that I shall ever see Hyacinth again. Wales is not far, and even an incomer without a kinship can find service there, though upon hard terms. No, he will not come back. He will never come back.’
It was a strange moment for Cadfael’s mind to wander, as though some corner of his consciousness had made even more of one remembered moment than he had realised, for he found himself thinking suddenly of Annet coming into her father’s house radiant and roused and mysterious, with an oak leaf in her disordered hair. A little flushed and breathing as though she had been running. And past the hour of Compline, at a time when surely Drogo of Bosiet already lay dead more than a mile away on the track to Shrewsbury. True, Annet had gone out dutifully to shut up the hens and the cow for the night, but she had been a very long time about it, and come back with the high colour and triumphant eyes of a girl returning from her lover. And had she not made occasion to say a good word for Hyacinth, and taken pleasure in hearing her father praise him?
‘How did you come upon this young man in the first place?’ Hugh was asking. ‘And why did you take him into your service?’
‘I was on my way from St Edmundsbury, by way of the Augustinian canons at Cambridge, and I lodged two nights over at the Cluniac priory in Northampton. He was among the beggars at the gate. Though he was able-
