whoever had killed Ailnoth, and loyally as they would close round him and cover him, it was nevertheless vital that the truth should be known, for there would be no real peace of mind for anyone until it was discovered. That was the first reason why Cadfael, almost against his will, wished for a solution. The second was for the sake of Abbot Radulfus, who carried, in his own mind, a double guilt, for bringing to the fold so ill-fitted a shepherd, and for suffering him to be done to death by some enraged ram among the flock. Bitter though it may be to many, Cadfael concluded, there is no substitute for truth, in this or any case.
Meantime, in occasional reversions to the day’s labours, he was thankful that Benet had completed the winter digging just in time, before the hard frost came, and attacked the final thin crop of weeds in all the flower beds so vigorously that now the earth could sleep snugly under the rime, and the whole enclosed garden looked neat and clean, and content as a hedge-pig curled up an arm’s length down under leaves and grass and dry herbage until the spring.
A good worker, the boy Benet, cheerful and ungrudging, and good company. Somewhat clouded by the death of this man who had brought him here, and at least never done him any harm, but his natural buoyancy would keep breaking through. Not much was left, now, of the candidate for the cloister. Had that been the one sign of human frailty in Father Ailnoth, that he had deliberately represented his groom on the journey north as desirous of the monastic life, though still a little hesitant to take the final step? A lie to get the boy off his hands? Benet was firm that he had never given voice to any such wish, and Benet, in Cadfael’s considered opinion, would make a very poor liar. Come to think of it, not very much left, either, of the wide-eyed, innocent, unlettered bumpkin Benet had first affected, at least not here in the solitude of the garden. He could still slip it on like a glove if for any reason the prior accosted him. Either he thinks me blind, said Cadfael to himself, or he does not care at all to pretend with me. And I am very sure he does not think me blind!
Well, a day or two more, and surely Hugh would be back. As soon as he was released from attendance on the King he would be making his way home by forced marches. Aline and Giles between them would take care of that. God send he would come home with the right answer!
And it seemed that Hugh had indeed made all haste to get home to his wife and son, for he rode into Shrewsbury late in the evening of the twenty-seventh, to hear from a relieved Alan Herbard of the turmoil that awaited solution, the death that came rather as blessing than disaster to the people of the Foregate, but must none the less be taken very seriously by the King’s officers. He came down immediately after Prime next morning, to get the most authoritative account from the abbot, and confer with him over the whole troublesome matter of the priest’s relationship with his flock. He had also another grave matter of his own to confide.
Cadfael knew nothing of Hugh’s return until mid morning, when his friend sought him out in the workshop. The broken-glass grating of boots on the frozen gravel made Cadfael turn from his mortar, knowing the step but hardly believing in it.
“Well, well!” he said, delighted. “I hadn’t thought to clap eyes on you for a day or two yet. Glad I am to see you, and I hope I read the signs aright?” He broke free from Hugh’s embrace to hold him off at arm’s length and study his face anxiously. “Yes, you have the look of success about you. Do I see you confirmed in office?”
“You do, old friend, you do! And kicked out promptly to my shire to be about my master’s business. Trust me, Cadfael, he’s come back to us lean and hungry and with the iron-marks on him, and he wants action, and vengeance, and blood. If he could but keep up this fury of energy, he could finish this contention within the year. But it won’t last,” said Hugh philosophically, “it never does. God, but I’m still stiff with all the riding I’ve done. Have you got a cup of wine about you, and half an hour to sit and waste with me?”
He flung himself down gratefully on the wooden bench and stretched out his feet to the warmth of the brazier, and Cadfael brought cups and a flagon, and sat down beside him, taking pleasure in viewing the slight figure and thin, eloquent face that brought in with them the whole savour of the outside world, fresh from the court, ratified in office, a man whose energy did not flag as Stephen’s did, who did not abandon one enterprise to go off after another, as Stephen did. Or were those days now over? Perhaps the King’s privations and grievances in prison in Bristol had put an end to all half-hearted proceedings in the future. But plainly Hugh did not think him capable of sustaining so great a change.
“He wore his crown again at the Christmas feast, and a sumptuous affair it was. Give him his due, there’s no man living could look more of a king than Stephen. He questioned me closely in private as to how things shape in these parts, and I gave him a full account of how we stand with the earl of Chester, and the solid ally Owain Gwynedd has been to us there in the north of the shire. He seemed content enough with me?at least he clouted me hard on the back?a fist like a shovel, Cadfael!?and gave me his authority to get on with the work as sheriff confirmed. He even recalled how I ever came to get his countenance as Prestcote’s deputy. I fancy that’s a rare touch in kings, part of the reason why we cling to Stephen even when he maddens us. So I got not only his sanction, but a great shove to get back on the road and back to my duty. I think he means to make a visit north when the worst of the winter’s over, to buckle a few more of the waverers to him again. Lucky I’d thought to get a change of horses four times on the way south,” said Hugh thankfully,”thinking I might be in haste coming back. I’d left my grey in Oxford, going down. And here I am, glad to be home.”
“And Alan Herbard will be glad to see you home,” said Cadfael, “for he’s been dropped into deep water while you’ve been away. Not that he shrinks from it, though he can hardly have welcomed it. He’ll have told you what’s happened here? On the very Nativity! A bad business!”
“He’s told me. I’ve just come from the abbot, to get his view of it. I saw but little of the man, but I’ve heard enough from others. A man well hated, and in so short a time. Is their view of him justified? I could hardly ask Abbot Radulfus to cry his candidate down, but I would not say he had any great regard for him.”
“A man without charity or humility,” said Cadfael simply. “Salted with those, he might have been a decent fellow, but both were left out of him. He came down over the parish like a cloud of blight, suddenly.”
“And you’re sure it was murder? I’ve seen his body, I know of the head wound. Hard to see, I grant you, how he could have come by that by accident, or alone.”
“You’ll have to pursue it,” said Cadfael, “whatever poor angry soul struck the blow. But you’ll get no help from the Foregate folk. Their hearts will be with whoever rid them of the shadow.”
“So Alan says, too,” said Hugh, briefly smiling. “He knows these people pretty shrewdly, young as he is. And he’d rather I should harry them than he. And inasmuch as I must, I will. I’m warned off charity and humility myself,” said Hugh ruefully, “on the King’s affairs. He wants his enemies hunted down without remorse, and is giving orders right and left to that effect. And I have a charge to be the hunter here in my shire, for one of them.”
“Once before, as I recall,” said Cadfael, refilling his friend’s cup, “he gave you a task to do that you did in your own way, which certainly was not his when he gave the order. He never questioned your way, after. He may as well repent of this, later, and be glad if you shuffle your feet somewhat in the hunt. Not that I need to tell you as much, since you know it all before.”
“I can make a goodly show,” agreed Hugh, grinning, “and still bear in mind that he might not be grateful for overmuch zeal, once he gets over his grudges. I never knew him bear malice for long. He did his worst here in Shrewsbury, and dislikes to be reminded of it now. The thing is this, Cadfael. Back in the summer, when it seemed
