The Devil's Novice Part 9

Isouda shook her head until the brown curls danced, and settled again into new and distracting patterns on her shoulders. "No! I've thought of all you've told me, and I know my Meriet. Neither you nor he need fear. I can deal!"

"Then before we go," said Cadfael, "you had better be armed with everything I have gleaned in the meantime." And he sat down with her and told her. She heard him out with a serious but tranquil face, unshaken.

"Listen, Brother Cadfael, why should he not not come to see his brother married, since things are as you say? I know it would not be a kindness, not yet, to tell him he's come to see his brother married, since things are as you say? I know it would not be a kindness, not yet, to tell him he's known known as an innocent and deceives n.o.body, it would only set him agonising for whoever it is he's hiding. But you know him now. If he's given his parole, he'll not break it, and he's innocent enough, G.o.d knows, to believe that other men are as honest as he, and will take his word as simply as he gives it. He would credit it if Hugh Beringar allowed even a captive felon to come to see his brother married." as an innocent and deceives n.o.body, it would only set him agonising for whoever it is he's hiding. But you know him now. If he's given his parole, he'll not break it, and he's innocent enough, G.o.d knows, to believe that other men are as honest as he, and will take his word as simply as he gives it. He would credit it if Hugh Beringar allowed even a captive felon to come to see his brother married."

"He could not yet walk so far," said Cadfael, though he was captivated by the notion.

"He need not. I would send a groom with a horse for him. Brother Mark could come with him. Why not? He could come early, and cloaked, and take his place privately where he could watch. Whatever follows," said Isouda with grave determination, "for I am not such a fool as to doubt there's grief here somehow for their house-whatever follows, I want him him brought forth into daylight, where he belongs. Or whatever faces may be fouled! For his is fair enough, and so I want it shown." brought forth into daylight, where he belongs. Or whatever faces may be fouled! For his is fair enough, and so I want it shown."

"So do I," said Cadfael heartily, "so do I!"

"Then ask Hugh Beringar if I may send for him to come. I don't know-I feel there may be need of him, that he has the right to be there, that he should be there."

"I will speak to Hugh," said Cadfael. "And now, come, let's be off to Saint Giles before the light fails."

They walked together along the Foregate, veered right at the bleached gra.s.s triangle of the horse-fair, and out between scattered houses and green fields to the hospice. The shadowy, skeleton trees made lace patterns against a greenish, pallid sky thinning to frost.

"This is where even lepers may go for shelter?" she said, climbing the gentle gra.s.sy slope to the boundary fence.

"They medicine them here, and do their best to heal? That is n.o.ble!"

"They even have their successes," said Cadfael. "There's never any want of volunteers to serve here, even after a death. Mark may have gone far to heal your Meriet, body and soul."

"When I have finished what he has begun," she said with a sudden s.h.i.+ning smile, "I will thank him properly. Now where must we go?"

Cadfael took her directly to the barn, but at this hour it was empty. The evening meal was not yet due, but the light was too far gone for any activity outdoors. The solitary low pallet stood neatly covered with its dun blanket.

"This is his bed?" she asked, gazing down at it with a meditative face.

"It is. He had it up in the loft above, for fear of disturbing his fellows if he had bad dreams, and it was here he fell. By Mark's account he was on his way in his sleep to make confession to Hugh Beringar, and get him to free his prisoner. Will you wait for him here? I'll find him and bring him to you."

Meriet was seated at Brother Mark's little desk in the anteroom of the hall, mending the binding of a service-book with a strip of leather. His face was grave in concentration on his task, his fingers patient and adroit. Only when Cadfael informed him that he had a visitor waiting in the barn was he shaken by sudden agitation. Cadfael he was used to, and did not mind, but he shrank from showing himself to others, as though he carried a contagion.

"I had rather no one came," he said, torn between grat.i.tude for an intended kindness and reluctance to have to make the effort of bearing the consequent pain. "What good can it do, now? What is there to be said? I've been glad of my quietness here." He gnawed a doubtful lip and asked resignedly: "Who is it?"

"No one you need fear," said Cadfael, thinking of Nigel, whose brotherly attentions might have proved too much to bear, had they been offered. But they had not. Bridegrooms have some excuse for putting all other business aside, certainly, but at least he could have asked after his brother. "It is only Isouda."

Only Isouda! Meriet drew relieved breath. "Isouda has thought of me? That was kind. But-does she know? That I am a confessed felon? I would not have her in a mistake..."

"She does know. No need to say word of that, and neither will she. She would have me bring her because she has a loyal affection for you. It won't cost you much to spend a few minutes with her, and I doubt if you'll have to do much talking, for she will do the most of it."

Meriet went with him, still a little reluctantly, but not greatly disturbed by the thought of having to bear the regard, the sympathy, the obstinate champions.h.i.+p, perhaps, of a child playmate. The children among his beggars had been good for him, simple, undemanding, accepting him without question. Isouda's sisterly fondness he could meet in the same way, or so he supposed.

She had helped herself to the flint and tinder in the box beside the cot, struck sparks, and kindled the wick of the small lamp, setting it carefully on the broad stone placed for it, where it would be safe from contact with any drifting straw, and shed its mellow, mild light upon the foot of the bed, where she had seated herself. She had put back her cloak to rest only upon her shoulders and frame the sober grandeur of her gown, her embroidered girdle, and the hands folded in her lap. She lifted upon Meriet as he entered the discreet, age-old smile of the Virgin in one of the more worldly paintings of the Annunciation, where the angel's emba.s.sage is patently superfluous, for the lady has known it long before.

Meriet caught his breath and halted at gaze, seeing this grown lady seated calmly and expectantly upon his bed. How could a few months so change anyone? He had meant to say gently but bluntly: "You should not have come here," but the words were never uttered. There she sat in possession of herself and of place and time, and he was almost afraid of her, and of the sorry changes she might find in him, thin, limping, outcast, no way resembling the boy who had run wild with her no long time ago. But Isouda rose, advanced upon him with hands raised to draw his head down to her, and kissed him soundly.

"Do you know you've grown almost handsome? I'm sorry about your broken head," she said, lifting a hand to touch the healed wound, "but this will go, you'll bear no mark. Someone did good work closing that cut. You may surely kiss me, you are not a monk yet."

Meriet's lips, still and chill against her cheek, suddenly stirred and quivered, closing in helpless pa.s.sion. Not for her as a woman, not yet, simply as a warmth, a kindness, someone coming with open arms and no questions or reproaches. He embraced her inexpertly, wavering between impetuosity and shyness of this transformed being, and quaked at the contact.

"You're still lame," she said solicitously. "Come and sit down with me. I won't stay too long, to tire you, but I couldn't be so near without coming to see you again. Tell me about this place," she ordered, drawing him down to the bed beside her. "There are children here, too, I heard their voices. Quite young children."

Spellbound, he began to tell her in stumbling, broken phrases about Brother Mark, small and fragile and indestructible, who had the signature of G.o.d upon him and longed to become a priest. It was not hard to talk about his friend, and the unfortunates who were yet fortunate in falling into such hands. Never a word about himself or her, while they sat shoulder to shoulder, turned inwards towards each other, and their eyes ceaselessly measured and noted the changes wrought by this season of trial. He forgot that he was a man self-condemned, with only a brief but strangely tranquil life before him, and she a young heiress with a manor double the value of Aspley, and grown suddenly beautiful. They sat immured from time and unthreatened by the world; and Cadfael slipped away satisfied, and went to s.n.a.t.c.h a word with Brother Mark, while there was time. She had her finger on the pulse of the hours, she would not stay too long. The art was to astonish, to warm, to quicken an absurd but utterly credible hope, and then to depart.

When she thought fit to go, Meriet brought her from the barn by the hand. They had both a high colour and bright eyes, and by the way they moved together they had broken free from the first awe, and had been arguing as of old; and that was good. He stooped his cheek to be kissed when they separated, and she kissed him briskly, gave him a cheek in exchange, said he was a stubborn wretch as he always had been, and yet left him exalted almost into content, and herself went away cautiously encouraged.

"I have as good as promised him I will send my horse to fetch him in good time tomorrow morning," she said, when they were reaching the first scattered houses of the Foregate.

"I have as good as promised Mark the same," said Cadfael. "But he had best come cloaked and quietly. G.o.d, he knows if I have any good reason for it, but my thumbs p.r.i.c.k and I want him there, but unknown to those closest to him in blood."

"We are troubling too much," said the girl buoyantly, exalted by her own success. "I told you long ago, he is mine, and no one else will have him. If it is needful that Peter Clemence's slayer must be taken, to give Meriet to me, then why fret, for he will be taken."

"Girl," said Cadfael, breathing in deeply, "you terrify me like an act of G.o.d. And I do believe you will pull down the thunderbolt."

In the warmth and soft light in their small chamber in the guesthall after supper, the two girls who shared a bed sat brooding over their plans for the morrow. They were not sleepy, they had far too much on their minds to wish for sleep. Roswitha's maid-servant, who attended them both, had gone to her bed an hour ago; she was a raw country girl, not entrusted with the choice of jewels, ornaments and perfumes for a marriage. It would be Isouda who would dress her friend's hair, help her into her gown, and escort her from guest-hall to church and back again, withdrawing the cloak from her shoulders at the church door, in this December cold, restoring it when she left on her lord's arm, a new-made wife.

Roswitha had spread out her wedding gown on the bed, to brood over its every fold, consider the set of the sleeves and the fit of the bodice, and wonder whether it would not be the better still for a closer clasp to the gilded girdle.

Isouda roamed the room restlessly, replying carelessly to Roswitha's dreaming comments and questions. They had the wooden chests of their possessions, leather-covered, stacked against one wall, and the small things they had taken out were spread at large on every surface; bed, shelf and chest. The little box that held Roswitha's jewels stood upon the press beside the guttering lamp. Isouda delved a hand idly into it, plucking out one piece after another. She had no great interest in such adornments.

"Would you wear the yellow mountain stones?" asked Roswitha, "to match with this gold thread in the girdle?"

Isouda held the amber pebbles to the light and let them run smoothly through her fingers. "They would suit well. But let me see what else you have here. You've never shown me the half of these." She was fingering them curiously when she caught the buried gleam of coloured enamels, and unearthed from the very bottom of the box a large brooch of the ancient ring-and-pin kind, the ring with its broad, flattened terminals intricately ornamented with filigree shapes of gold framing the enamels, sinuous animals that became twining leaves if viewed a second time, and twisted back into serpents as she gazed. The pin was of silver, with a diamond-shaped head engraved with a formal flower in enamels, and the point projected the length of her little finger beyond the ring, which filled her palm. A princely thing, made to fasten the thick folds of a man's cloak. She had begun to say: "I've never seen this..." before she had it out and saw it clearly. She broke off then, and the sudden silence caused Roswitha to look up. She rose quickly, and came to plunge her own hand into the box and thrust the brooch to the bottom again, out of sight.

"Oh, not that!" she said with a grimace. "It's too heavy, and so old-fas.h.i.+oned. Put them all back, I shall need only the yellow necklace, and the silver hair-combs." She closed the lid firmly, and drew Isouda back to the bed, where the gown lay carefully outspread. "See here, there are a few frayed st.i.tches in the embroidery, could you catch them up for me? You are a better needlewoman than I."

With a placid face and steady hand Isouda sat down and did as she was asked, and refrained from casting another glance at the box that held the brooch. But when the hour of Compline came, she snapped off her thread at the final st.i.tch, laid her work aside, and announced that she was going to attend the office. Roswitha, already languidly undressing for bed, made no move to dissuade, and certainly none to join her.

Brother Cadfael left the church after Compline by the south porch, intending only to pay a brief visit to his workshop to see that the brazier, which Brother Oswin had been using earlier, was safely out, everything securely stoppered, and the door properly closed to conserve what warmth remained. The night was starry and sharp with frost, and he needed no other light to see his way by such familiar paths. But he had got no further than the archway into the court when he was plucked urgently by the sleeve, and a breathless voice whispered in his ear: "Brother Cadfael, I must talk to you!"

"Isouda! What is it? Something has happened?" He drew her back into one of the carrels of the scriptorium; no one else would be stirring there now, and in the darkness the two of them were invisible, drawn back into the most sheltered corner. Her face at his shoulder was intent, a pale oval afloat above the darkness of her cloak.

"Happened, indeed! You said said I might pull down the thunderbolt. I have found something," she said, rapid and low in his ear, "in Roswitha's jewel box. Hidden at the bottom. A great ring-brooch, very old and fine, in gold and silver and enamels, the kind men made long before ever the Normans came. As big as the palm of my hand, with a long pin. When she saw what I had, she came and thrust it back into the box and closed the lid, saying that was too heavy and old-fas.h.i.+oned to wear. So I let it pa.s.s, and never said word of what I knew. I doubt if she understands what it is, or how whoever gave it to her came by it, though I think he must have warned her not to wear or show it, not yet... Why else should she be so quick to put it out of my sight? Or else simply she doesn't like it-I suppose it might be no more than that. But I might pull down the thunderbolt. I have found something," she said, rapid and low in his ear, "in Roswitha's jewel box. Hidden at the bottom. A great ring-brooch, very old and fine, in gold and silver and enamels, the kind men made long before ever the Normans came. As big as the palm of my hand, with a long pin. When she saw what I had, she came and thrust it back into the box and closed the lid, saying that was too heavy and old-fas.h.i.+oned to wear. So I let it pa.s.s, and never said word of what I knew. I doubt if she understands what it is, or how whoever gave it to her came by it, though I think he must have warned her not to wear or show it, not yet... Why else should she be so quick to put it out of my sight? Or else simply she doesn't like it-I suppose it might be no more than that. But I I know what it is and where it came from, and so will you when I tell you..." She had run out of breath in her haste, and panted soft warmth against his cheek, leaning close. "I have seen it before, as she may not have done. It was I who took the cloak from him and carried it within, to the chamber we made ready for him. Fremund brought in his saddle-bags, the cloak I carried... and this brooch was pinned in the collar." know what it is and where it came from, and so will you when I tell you..." She had run out of breath in her haste, and panted soft warmth against his cheek, leaning close. "I have seen it before, as she may not have done. It was I who took the cloak from him and carried it within, to the chamber we made ready for him. Fremund brought in his saddle-bags, the cloak I carried... and this brooch was pinned in the collar."

Cadfael laid a hand over the small hand that gripped his sleeve, and asked, half-doubting, half-convinced already: "Whose cloak? Are you saying this thing belonged to Peter Clemence?"

"I am am saying it. I will swear it." saying it. I will swear it."

"You are sure it must be the same?"

"I am sure. I tell you I carried it in, I touched, I admired it."

"No, there could not well be two such," he said, and drew breath deep. "Of such rare things I doubt there were ever made two alike."

"Even if there were, why should both wander into this s.h.i.+re? But no, surely every one was made for a prince or a chief and never repeated. My grandsire had such a brooch, but not near so fine and large, he said it came from Ireland, long ago. Besides, I remember the very colours and the strange beasts. It is the same. And she has it!" She had a new thought, and voiced it eagerly. "Canon Eluard is still here, he knew the cross and ring, he will surely know this, and he can swear to it. But if that fails, so can I, and I will. Tomorrow-how must we deal tomorrow? For Hugh Beringar is not here to be told, and the time so short. It rests with us. Tell me what I can best do?"

"So I will," said Cadfael slowly, his hand firm over hers, "when you have told me one more most vital thing. This brooch-it is whole and clean? No stain, no discolouration anywhere upon it, on metals or enamels? Not even thin edges where such discolourings may have been cleaned away?"

"No!" said Isouda after a sudden brief silence, and drew in understanding breath. "I had not thought of that! No, it is as it was made, bright and perfect. Not like the others...No, this this has has not not been through the fire." been through the fire."

Chapter Twelve.

THE WEDDING DAY DAWNED CLEAR, bright and very cold. A flake or two of frozen snow, almost too fine to be seen but stinging on the cheek, greeted Isouda as she crossed the court for Prime, but the sky was so pure and lofty that it seemed there would be no fall. Isouda prayed earnestly and bluntly, rather demanding help from heaven than entreating it. From the church she went to the stableyard, to give orders that her groom should go with her horse and bring Meriet at the right time, with Mark in attendance, to see his brother married. Then she went to dress Roswitha, braid her hair and dress it high with the silver combs and gilt net, fasten the yellow necklace about her throat, walk round her and twitch every fold into place. Uncle Leoric, whether avoiding this cloistered abode of women or grimly preoccupied with the divergent fortunes of his two sons, made no appearance until it was time for him to proceed to his place in the church, but Wulfric Linde hovered in satisfied admiration of his daughter's beauty, and did not seem to find this over-womaned air hard to breathe. Isouda had a mild, tolerant regard for him; a silly kind man, competent at getting good value out of a manor, and reasonable with his tenants and villeins, but seldom looking beyond, and always the last to know what his children or neighbours were about.

Somewhere, at this same time, Janyn and Nigel were certainly engaged in the same archaic dance, making the bridegroom ready for what was at the same time triumph and sacrifice.

Wulfric studied the set of Roswitha's bliaut, and turned her about fondly to admire her from every angle. Isouda withdrew to the press, and let them confer contentedly, totally absorbed, while she fished up by touch, from the bottom of the casket, the ancient ring-brooch that had belonged to Peter Clemence, and secured it by the pin in her wide over-sleeve.

The young groom Edred arrived at Saint Giles with two horses, in good time to bring Meriet and Brother Mark to the dim privacy within the church before the invited company a.s.sembled. In spite of his natural longing to see his brother wed, Meriet had shrunk from being seen to be present, an accused felon as he was, and a shame to his father's house. So he had said when Isouda promised him access, and a.s.sured him that Hugh Beringar would allow the indulgence and accept his prisoner's sworn word not to take advantage of such clemency; the scruple had suited Isouda's purpose then and was even more urgently welcome now. He need not make himself known to anyone, and no one should recognise or even notice him. Edred would bring him early, and he could be safely installed in a dim corner of the choir before ever the guests came in, some withdrawn place where he could see and not be seen. And when the married pair left, and the guests after them, then he could follow unnoticed and return to his prison with his gentle gaoler, who was necessary as friend, prop in case of need, and witness, though Meriet knew nothing of the need there might well be of informed witnesses.

"And the lady of Foriet orders me," said Edred cheerfully, "to tether the horses outside the precinct, ready for when you want to return. Outside the gatehouse I'll hitch them, there are staples there, and you may take your time until the rest have gone in, if you so please. You won't mind, brothers, if I take an hour or so free while you're within? There's a sister of mine has a house along the Foregate, a small cot for her and her man." There was also a girl he fancied, in the hovel next door, but that he did not feel it necessary to say.

Meriet came forth from the barn strung taut like an overtuned lute, his cowl drawn forward to hide his face. He had discarded his stick, except when overtired at the end of the day, but he still went a little lame on his sprained foot. Mark kept close at his elbow, watching the sharp, lean profile that was honed even finer by the dark backcloth of the cowl, a face lofty-browed, high-nosed, fastidious.

"Should I so intrude upon him?" wondered Meriet, his voice thin with pain. "He has not asked after me," he said, aching, and turned his face away, ashamed of so complaining.

"You should and you must," said Mark firmly. "You promised the lady, and she has put herself out to make your visit easy. Now let her groom mount you, you have not yet the full use of that foot, you cannot spring."

Meriet gave way, consenting to borrow a hand to get into the saddle. "And that's her own riding horse you have there," said Edred, looking up proudly at the tall young gelding. "And a stout little horsewoman she is, and thinks the world of him. There's not many she'd let into a saddle on that that back, I can tell you." back, I can tell you."

It occurred to Meriet, somewhat late, to wonder if he was not trying Brother Mark too far, in enforcing him to clamber aboard a beast strange and possibly fearsome to him. He knew so little of this small, tireless brother, only what he was, not at all what he had been aforetime, nor how long he had worn the habit; there were those children of the cloister who had been habited from infancy. But Brother Mark set foot briskly enough in the stirrup, and hoisted his light weight into the saddle without either grace or difficulty.

"I grew up on a well-farmed yardland," he said, noting Meriet's wide eye. "I have had to do with horses from an infant, not your high-bred stock, but farm-drudges. I plod like them, but I can stay up, and I can get my beast where he must go. I began very early," he said, remembering long hours half-asleep and sagging in the fields, a small hand clutching the stones in his bag, to sling at the crows along the furrow.

They went out along the Foregate thus, two mounted brothers of the Benedictines with a young groom trotting alongside. The winter morning was young, but the human traffic was already brisk, husbandmen out to feed their winter stock, housewives shopping, late packmen humping their packs, children running and playing, everybody quick to make use of a fine morning, where daylight was in any case short, and fine mornings might be few. As brothers of the abbey, they exchanged greetings and reverences all along the way.

They lighted down before the gatehouse, and left the horses with Edred to bestow as he had said. Here in the precinct where he had sought entry, for whatever reason of his own and counter-reason of his father's, Meriet hung irresolute, trembling, if Mark had not taken him by the arm and drawn him within. Through the great court, busy enough but engrossed, they made their way into the blessed dimness and chill of the church, and if any noticed them they never wondered at two brothers going cowled and in a hurry on such a frosty morning.

Edred, whistling, tethered the horses as he had said he would, and went off to visit his sister and the girl next door.

Hugh Beringar, not a wedding guest, was nevertheless as early on the scene as were Meriet and Mark, nor did he come alone. Two of his officers loitered un.o.btrusively among the s.h.i.+fting throng in the great court, where a number of the curious inhabitants of the Foregate had added themselves to the lay servants, boys and novices, and the various birds of pa.s.sage lodged in the common hall. Cold though it might be, they intended to see all there was to be seen. Hugh kept out of sight in the anteroom of the gatehouse, where he could observe without himself being observed. Here he had within his hand all those who had been closest to the death of Peter Clemence. If this day's ferment did not cast up anything fresh, then both Leoric and Nigel must be held to account, and made to speak out whatever they knew.

In compliment to a generous patron of the abbey, Abbot Radulfus himself had elected to conduct the marriage service, and that ensured that his guest Canon Eluard should also attend. Moreover, the sacrament would be at the high altar, not the parish altar, since the abbot was officiating, and the choir monks would all be in their places. That severed Hugh from any possibility of a word in advance with Cadfael. A pity, but they knew each other well enough by now to act in alliance even without prearrangement.

The leisurely business of a.s.sembly had begun already, guests crossed from hall to church by twos and threes, in their best. A country gathering, not a court one, but equally proud and of lineage as old or older. Compa.s.sed about with a great cloud of witnesses, equally Saxon and Norman, Roswitha Linde would go to her bridal. Shrewsbury had been given to the great Earl Roger almost as soon as Duke William became king, but many a manor in the outlying countryside had remained with its old lord, and many a come-lately Norman lordling had had the sense to take a Saxon wife, and secure his gains through blood older than his own, and a loyalty not due to himself.

The interested crowd s.h.i.+fted and murmured, craning to get the best view of the pa.s.sing guests. There went Leoric Aspley, and there his son Nigel, that splendid young man, decked out to show him at his best, and Janyn Linde in airy attendance, his amused and indulgent smile appropriate enough in a good-natured bachelor a.s.sisting at another young man's loss of liberty. That meant that all the guests should now be in their places. The two young men halted at the door of the church and took their stand there.

Roswitha came from the guest-hall swathed in her fine blue cloak, for her gown was light for a winter morning. No question but she was beautiful, Hugh thought, watching her sail down the stone steps on Wulfric's plump, complacent arm. Cadfael had reported her as quite unable to resist drawing all men after her, even elderly monks of no attraction or presence. She had the audience of her life now, lined up on either side of her unhurried pa.s.sage to the church, gaping in admiration. And in her it seemed as innocent and foolish as an over-fondness for honey. To be jealous of her would be absurd.

Isouda Foriet, demure in eclipse behind such radiance, walked after the bride, bearing her gilded prayer-book and ready to attend on her at the church door, where Wulfric lifted his daughter's hand from his own arm, and laid it in the eager hand Nigel extended to receive it. Bride and groom entered the church porch together, and there Isouda lifted the warm mantle from Roswitha's shoulders and folded it over her own arm, and so followed the bridal pair into the dim nave of the church.

Not at the parish altar of Holy Cross, but at the high altar of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, Nigel Aspley and Roswitha Linde were made man and wife.

Nigel made his triumphal way from the church by the great west door which lay just outside the enclave of the abbey, close beside the gatehouse. He had Roswitha ceremoniously by the hand, and was so blind and drunk with his own pride of possession that it was doubtful if he was aware even of Isouda herself standing in the porch, let alone of the cloak she spread in her hands and draped over Roswitha's shoulders, as bride and groom reached the chill brightness of the frosty noon outside. After them streamed the proud fathers and gratified guests; and if Leone's face was unwontedly grey and sombre for such an occasion, no one seemed to remark it; he was at all times an austere man.

Nor did Roswitha notice the slight extra weight on her left shoulder of an ornament intended for a man's wear. Her eyes were fixed only on the admiring crowd that heaved and sighed with approbation at sight of her. Here outside the wall the throng had grown, since everyone who had business or a dwelling along the Foregate had come to stare. Not here, thought Isouda, following watchfully, not here will there be any response, here all those who might recognise the brooch are walking behind her, and Nigel is as oblivious as she. Only when they turn in again at the gatehouse, having shown themselves from the parish door, will there be anyone to take heed. And if Canon Eluard fails me, she thought resolutely, then I I shall speak out, my word against hers or any man's. shall speak out, my word against hers or any man's.

Roswitha was in no hurry; her progress down the steps, across the cobbles of the forecourt to the gateway and so within to the great court, was slow and stately, so that every man might stare his fill. That was a blessed chance, for in the meantime Abbot Radulfus and Canon Eluard had left the church by transept and cloister, and stood to watch benevolently by the stair to the guesthall, and the choir monks had followed them out to disperse and mingle with the fringes of the crowd, aloof but interested.

Brother Cadfael made his way un.o.btrusively to a post close to where the abbot and his guest stood, so that he could view the advancing pair as they did. Against the heavy blue cloth of Roswitha's cloak the great brooch, aggressively male, stood out brilliantly. Canon Eluard had broken off short in the middle of some quiet remark in the abbot's ear, and his beneficent smile faded, and gave place to a considering and intent frown, as though at this slight distance his vision failed to convince him he was seeing what indeed he saw.

"But that..." he murmured, to himself rather than to any other. "But no, how can it be?"

Bride and groom drew close, and made dutiful reverence to the dignitaries of the church. Behind them came Isouda, Leoric, Wulfric, and all the a.s.sembly of their guests. Under the arch of the gatehouse Cadfael saw Janyn's fair head and flas.h.i.+ng blue eyes, as he loitered to exchange a word with someone in the Foregate crowd known to him, and then came on with his light, springing step, smiling.

Nigel was handing his wife to the first step of the stone stairway when Canon Eluard stepped forward and stood between, with an arresting motion of his hand. Only then, following his fixed gaze, did Roswitha look down at the collar of her cloak, which swung loose on her shoulders, and see the glitter of enamelled colours and the thin gold outlines of fabulous beasts, entwined with sinuous leaves.

"Child," said Eluard, "may I look more closely?" He touched the raised threads of gold, and the silver head of the pin. She watched in wary silence, startled and uneasy, but not yet defensive or afraid. "That is a beautiful and rare thing you have there," said the canon, eyeing her with a slight, uncertain frown. "Where did you get it?"

Hugh had come forth from the gatehouse and was watching and listening from the rear of the crowd. At the corner of the cloister two habited brothers watched from a distance. Pinned here between the watchers round the west door and the gathering now halted inexplicably here in the great court, and unwilling to be noticed by either, Meriet stood stiff and motionless in shadow, with Brother Mark beside him, and waited to return unseen to his prison and refuge.

Roswitha moistened her lips, and said with a pale smile: "It was a gift to me from a kinsman."

"Strange!" said Eluard, and turned to the abbot with a grave face. "My lord abbot, I know this brooch well, too well ever to mistake it. It belonged to the bishop of Winchester, and he gave it to Peter Clemence-to that favoured clerk of his household whose remains now lie in your chapel."

Brother Cadfael had already noted one remarkable circ.u.mstance. He had been watching Nigel's face ever since that young man had first looked down at the adornment that was causing so much interest, and until this moment there had been no sign whatever that the brooch meant anything to him. He was glancing from Canon Eluard to Roswitha, and back again, a puzzled frown furrowing his broad forehead and a faint, questioning smile on his lips, waiting for someone to enlighten him. But now that its owner had been named, it suddenly had meaning for him, and a grim and frightening meaning at that. He paled and stiffened, staring at the canon, but though his throat and lips worked, either he found no words or thought better of those that he had found, for he remained mute. Abbot Radulfus had drawn close on one side, and Hugh Beringar on the other.

"What is this? You recognise this gem as belonging to Master Clemence? You are certain?"

"As certain as I was of those possessions of his which you have already shown me, cross and ring and dagger, which had gone through the fire with him. This he valued in particular as the bishop's gift. Whether he was wearing it on his last journey I cannot say, but it was his habit, for he prized it."

"If I may speak, my lord," said Isouda clearly from behind Roswitha's shoulder, "I do do know that he was wearing it when he came to Aspley. The brooch was in his cloak when I took it from him at the door and carried it to the chamber prepared for him, and it was in his cloak also when I brought it out to him the next morning when he left us. He did not need the cloak for riding, the morning was warm and fine. He had it slung over his saddle-bow when he rode away." know that he was wearing it when he came to Aspley. The brooch was in his cloak when I took it from him at the door and carried it to the chamber prepared for him, and it was in his cloak also when I brought it out to him the next morning when he left us. He did not need the cloak for riding, the morning was warm and fine. He had it slung over his saddle-bow when he rode away."

"In full view, then," said Hugh sharply. For cross and ring had been left with the dead man and gone to the fire with him. Either time had been short and flight imperative, or else some superst.i.tious awe had deterred the murderer from stripping a priest's gems of office from his very body, though he had not scrupled to remove this one fine thing which lay open to his hand. "You observe, my lords," said Hugh, "that this jewel seems to show no marks of damage. If you will allow us to handle and examine it...?"

Good, thought Cadfael, rea.s.sured, I should have known Hugh would need no nudging from me. I can leave all to him now.

Roswitha made no move either to allow or prevent, as Hugh unpinned the great brooch from its place. She looked on with a blanched and apprehensive face, but said never a word. No, Roswitha was not entirely innocent in the matter; whether she had known what this gift was and how come by or not, she had certainly understood that it was perilous and not to be shown-not yet! Perhaps not here? And after their marriage they were bound for Nigel's northern manor. Who was likely to know it there?

This has never seen the fire," said Hugh, and handed it to Canon Eluard for confirmation. "Everything else the man had was burned with him. Only this one thing was taken from him before ever those reached him who built him into his pyre. And only one person, last to see him alive, first to see him dead, can have taken this from his cloak as he lay, and that was his murderer." He turned to Roswitha, who stood pale to translucency, like a woman of ice, staring at him with wide and horrified eyes.

"Who gave it to you?"

She cast one rapid glance around her, and then as suddenly took heart, and drawing breath deep, she answered loudly and clearly: "Meriet!"

Cadfael awoke abruptly to the realisation that he possessed knowledge which he had not yet confided to Hugh, and if he waited for the right challenge to this bold declaration from other lips he might wait in vain, and lose what had already been gained. For most of those here a.s.sembled, there was nothing incredible in this great lie she had just told, nothing even surprising, considering the circ.u.mstances of Meriet's entry into the cloister, and the history of the devil's novice within these walls. And she had clutched at the brief general hush as encouragement, and was enlarging boldly: "He was always following me with his dog's eyes. I didn't want his gifts, but I took it to be kind to him. How could I know where he got it?"

"When?" demanded Cadfael loudly, as one having authority. "When did he give you this gift?" did he give you this gift?"

"When?" She looked round, hardly knowing where the question had come from, but hasty and positive in answering it, to hammer home conviction. "It was the day after Master Clemence left Aspley-the day after he was killed-in the afternoon. He came to me in our paddock at Linde. He pressed me so to take it... I did not want to hurt him..." From the tail of his eye Cadfael saw that Meriet had come forth from his shadowy place and drawn a little nearer, and Mark had followed him anxiously though without attempting to restrain him. But the next moment all eyes were drawn to the tall figure of Leoric Aspley, as he came striding and shouldering forward to tower over his son and his son's new wife.