The attendants on one death could not forbear from stopping what they were doing to stare at the attendants on the other. And Aymer, coming out from the guest hall with Brother Denis beside him to wish the departing train godspeed, halted at the top of the steps to take in the scene with surprise and sharp speculation, his eyes dwelling longest on the covered form and face. He came striding down to cross purposefully to where Hugh was just dismounting.
‘What’s this, my lord? Another death? Has your hunt brought down my quarry at last? But dead?’ He hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry if the corpse was that of his lost villein. The money and favour Hyacinth’s skills brought in were valuable, but revenge would also be a satisfying gain, and just when he had despaired of winning either, and made up his mind to go home.
Abbot Radulfus, too, had dismounted, and stood looking on with an uncommunicative face, for the two groups carried a curious and disturbing suggestion of a mirror image, gathered about the arriving and departing dead. The abbey grooms who had come to take the bridles of abbot and sheriff hung upon the fringes of the assembly, reluctant to move away.
‘No,’ said Hugh, ‘this is no man of yours. If the boy we’ve been hunting is yours. Of him we’ve seen no sign, whether he is or no. You’re bound for home, then?’
‘I’ve wasted time and effort enough, I’ll waste no more, though I grudge letting him go free. Yes, we’re away now. I’m needed at home, there’s work waiting for me. Who is this one you’ve brought back?’
‘The hermit who was set up no long time ago in Eyton forest. Your father went to visit him,’ said Hugh, ‘thinking the servant he kept might be the fellow you were looking for, but the youngster had already taken to his heels, so it’s never been put to the test.’
‘I remember, soothe lord abbot told me. So this is the man! I never went to him again, what use if the lad he kept was gone?’ He looked curiously down at the shrouded figure. The bearers had laid down their burden, awaiting orders where to take the dead. Aymer stooped and turned back the brychan from Cuthred’s face. They had drawn back the wild fell of hair from his temples, and brushed down his bushy beard into order, and the full light of noon shone over the lean countenance, the deep-set eyes, the lofty lids a little bruised and bluish now, the long, straight, patrician nose and full lips within the dark beard. The glare of the half-open eyes was now veiled, the snarl on the drawn-back lips carefully smoothed out to restore his harsh comeliness. Aymer leaned closer, startled and disbelieving.
‘But I know this man! No, that’s to say too much, he never said his name. But I’ve seen him and talked with him. A hermit?he? I never saw sign of it then! He wore his hair trimmed Norman fashion, and had a short, clipped beard, not this untended bush, and he was well clothed in good riding gear, boots and all, not this drab habit and sandals. And he wore sword and dagger into the bargain,’ said Aymer positively, ‘and as if he was well accustomed to the use of them, too.’
Until he looked up again he was not fully aware of the significance of what he had said, but Hugh’s intent face and instant question made it plain he had touched on something more vital than he knew.
‘You are sure?’ said Hugh.
‘Certain, my lord. It was only one night’s lodging, but I diced with him for the dinner, and watched my father play a game of chess with him. I’m certain!’
‘Where was this? And when?’
‘At Thame, when we were looking towards London for Brand. We lodged overnight with the white monks at their new abbey there. This man was there before us, we came well into the evening, and went on south next day. I can’t say the exact day, but it was towards the end of September.’
‘Then if you know him again,’ said Hugh, ‘changed as his condition is, would your father also have recognised him at sight?’
‘Surely he would, my lord. His eyes were sharper than mine. He’d sat over a chessboard with the man, eye to eye. He’d know him again.’
And so he had, thought Cadfael, when he went manhunting to the cell in the forest, and came face to face with the hermit Cuthred who had been no hermit a month or so earlier. And he had not lived to return to the abbey and let out to any man what he knew. And what if he knew no great evil of this transformed being? He might still let fall to other ears the casual word that would mean more to them than ever it had to him, and bring to the cell in Eyton forest someone in search of more than a runaway villein, and worse, surely, than a spurious priest. But he had not lived to get further on his return journey than a close forest thicket, sufficiently far from the hermitage to remove suspicion from a local saint reputed never to leave his cell.
The evidence of circumstances is not positive proof, yet Cadfael had no doubts left. There before them the coffined body and the new corpse rested for a few moments side by side, before Prior Robert directed the bearers to the mortuary chapel, and Aymer Bosiet covered Cuthred’s face again, and turned afresh to his own preparations for departure. His mind was on other things, why distract and detain him now? But Cadfael did suddenly take thought to ask one curious question.
‘What manner of horse was he riding when he halted overnight at Thame?’
Aymer turned from fastening the straps of his saddlebags in detached surprise, opened his mouth to answer, and found himself at a loss, frowning thoughtfully over his recollections of that night.
‘He was there before us. There were two horses in the priory stables when we came. And he’d left before us next morning. But now you come to ask, when we got to horse, the same two beasts we saw there the night before were still in their stalls. That’s strange! What would such a well-found man, knightly by the look of him and his arms?what would he be doing without a horse?’
‘Ah, well, he may have stabled it somewhere else,’ said Cadfael, abandoning the puzzle as trivial.
But it was not trivial, it was the key to open a very strange door in the mind. There before so many eyes lay the slayer and the slain, side by side, justice already done. But who, then, had slain the slayer?
They were gone, all of them, Aymer on his father’s handsome light roan horse, Warin with the horse Aymer had ridden on the outward journey now on a leading rein, the young groom with the carter and the cart. After the first day-stages Aymer would probably be off at speed, leaving the grooms to bring the coffin after at their slower pace, and most likely sending other retainers back along the way to relieve them, once he reached home. In the mortuary chapel Cadfael had seen Cuthred’s body laid out in seemly fashion, hair and beard trimmed, not, perhaps, so closely as the knight at Thame had worn them, but enough to display, in the fixed and austere tranquillity of death, a face appropriate enough to a dignified religious. Unfair that a murderer should look as noble in death as any of the empress’s paladins.
