The Heretic's Apprentice (22 page)

In a few curiously companionable days they had arrived at terms on which such questions could be asked and answered freely. And Anselm had turned a page of Origen and replied tranquilly: ‘It all comes of trying to formulate what is too vast and mysterious to be formulated. Once the bit was between their teeth there was nothing for it but to take exception to anything that differed from their own conception. And every rival conception lured its conceiver deeper and deeper into a quagmire. The simple souls who found no difficulty and knew nothing about formulae walked dryshod across the same marsh, not knowing it was there.'

‘I fancy that was what I was doing,' said Elave ruefully, ‘until I came here. Now I'm bogged to the knees, and doubt if I shall ever get out.'

‘Oh, you may have lost your saving innocence,' said Anselm comfortably, ‘but if you are sinking, it's in a morass of other men's words, not your own. They never hold so fast. You have only to close the book.'

‘Too late! There are things I want to know, now. How did Father and Son first become three? Who first wrote of them as three, to confuse us all? How can there be three, all equal, who are yet not three but one?'

‘As the three lobes of the clover leaf are three and equal but united in one leaf,' suggested Anselm.

‘And the four-leaved clover, that brings luck? What is the fourth, humankind? Or are we the stem of the threesome, that binds all together?'

Anselm shook his head over him, but with unperturbed serenity and a tolerant grin. ‘Never write a book, son! You would certainly be made to burn it!'

Now Elave sat in his solitude, which did not seem to him particularly lonely, and thought about this and other conversations which had passed between precentor and prisoner during the past few days, and seriously considered whether a man was really better for reading anything at all, let alone these labyrinthine works of theology that served only to make the clear and bright seem muddied and dim, by clothing everything they touched in words obscure and shapeless as mist, far out of the comprehension of ordinary men, of whom the greater part of the human creation is composed. When he looked out from the cell window, at a narrow lancet of pale blue sky fretted with the tremor of leaves and feathered with a few wisps of bright white cloud, everything appeared to him radiant and simple again, within the grasp of even the meanest, and conferring benevolence impartially and joyously upon all.

He started when he heard the key grate in the lock, not having associated the murmur of voices outside with his own person. The sounds of the outer world came in to him throughout the day by the window, and the chime of the office bell marked off the hours for him. He was even becoming used to the horarium, and celebrated the regular observances with small inward genuflections of his own. For God was no part of the morass or the labyrinth and could not be blamed for what men had made of a shining simplicity and certainty.

But the turning of the key in the lock belonged to his own practical workaday world, from which this banishment could only be temporary, possibly for a purpose, a halting place for thought after the journey half across the world. He sat watching the door open upon the summer day outside, and it was not opened inch by cautious inch but wide and generously, back to touch the wall, as Brother Cadfael came in.

‘Son, you have visitors!' He waved them past him into the small, stony room, watching the sudden brightness flood over Elave's dazzled face and set him blinking. ‘How is your head this morning?'

The head in question had shed its bandages the previous day, only a dry scar was left in the thick hair. Elave said in a daze: ‘Well, very well!'

‘No aches and pains? Then that's my business done. And now,' said Cadfael, withdrawing to perch on the foot of the bed with his back to the room, ‘I am one of the stones of the wall. I am ordered to stay with you, but you may regard me as deaf and mute.'

It seemed that he had made mutes of two of the three thus unceremoniously brought together, for Elave had come to his feet in a great start, and stood staring at Fortunata as she was staring at him, flushed and great-eyed, and stricken silent. Only their eyes were still eloquent, and Cadfael had not turned his back so completely that he could not observe them from the corner of his own eye, and read what was not being said. It had not taken those two long to make up their minds. Yet he must remember that this was not so sudden, except in its discovery. They had known each other and lived in the same household from her infancy until her eleventh year, and in another fashion there had surely been a strong fondness, indulgent and condescending, no doubt, on his part, probably worshipping and wistful on hers, for girls tend to achieve grown-up and painful affections far earlier than boys. She had had to wait for her fulfilment until he came home, to find the bud had blossomed, and to stand astonished at its beauty.

‘Well, lad!' Girard said heartily, eyeing the young man from head to foot and shaking him warmly by both hands. ‘You're home at last after all your ventures, and I not here to greet you! But greet you I do now, and gladly. I never looked to see you in this trouble, but God helping, it will all pass off safely in the end. From all accounts you did well by Uncle William. So far as is in us, we'll do well by you.'

Elave drew himself out of his daze with an effort, gulped, and sat down abruptly on his bed. ‘I never thought,' he said, ‘they would have let you in to see me. It was good of you to trouble for me, but take no chances on my behalf. Touch no pitch, and it can't stick to you! You know what they're holding against me? You should not come near me,' he said vehemently, ‘not yet, not until I'm freed. I'm contagious!'

‘But you do know,' said Fortunata, ‘that you're not suspect of ever harming Aldwin? That's over, proven false.'

‘Yes, I know. Brother Anselm brought me word, after Prime. But that's but the half of it.'

‘The greater half,' said Girard, plumping himself down on the small, high stool, which his amplitude overflowed on every side.

‘Not everyone within here thinks so. Fortunata has already put herself in disfavour with some because she was not hot enough against me when they questioned her. I would not for the world,' said Elave earnestly, ‘bring harm upon her or upon you. Stay from me, I shall be easier in my mind.'

‘We have the abbot's leave to come,' said Girard, ‘and for all I could see his goodwill, too. We came here to chapter, Fortunata and I, to make an offer on your behalf. And if you think we shall either of us draw off and leave you unfriended for fear of a few over-zealous sniffers-out of evil, with tongues that wag at both ends, you're mistaken in us. My name stands sturdy enough in this town to survive a deal of buffeting by gossips. And so shall yours, before this is over. What we hoped was to have you released to come home with us, on my guarantee of your good behaviour. I pledged you to answer to your bail when you were called, and told them there's now a place for you in my employ. Why not? You had no hand in Aldwin's death and neither did I, nor would either of us ever have turned him off to make way for you. But for all that, it's done! The poor soul's gone, I need a clerk, and you need somewhere to lay your head when you get out of here. Where better than in the house you know, dealing with a business you used to know well, and can soon master again? So if you're willing, there's my hand on it, and we're both bound. What do you say?'

‘I say there's nothing in the world I'd like better!' Elave's face, carefully composed these last days into a wary calm, had slipped its mask and flushed into a warmth of pleasure and gratitude that made him look very young and vulnerable. It would cost him something to reassemble his breached defences when these two were gone, Cadfael reflected. ‘But we should not be talking of it now. We must not!' Elave protested, quivering. ‘God knows I'm grateful to you for such generosity, but I dare hardly think of the future until I'm out of here. Out of here, and vindicated! You have not told me what they answered, but I can guess at it. They would not turn me loose, not even into your charge.'

Girard owned it regretfully. ‘But the abbot gave us leave to come and see you, and tell you what I propose for you, so that you may at least know you have friends who are stirring for you. Every voice raised in your support must be of some help. I've told you of what I am keeping for you. Now Fortunata has somewhat to say to you on her own account.'

Girard on entering had sensibly laid down the burden he was carrying upon the pallet beside Elave. Fortunata stirred out of her tranced stillness, and leaned to take it up and sit down beside him, nursing the box on her knees.

‘You remember how you brought this to our house? Father and I brought it here today to pledge as bail for your release, but they would not let you go. But if we could not buy your liberty with it one way,' she said in a low deliberate voice, ‘there are other ways. Remember what I said to you when last we were together.'

‘I do remember,' he said.

‘Such matters need money,' said Fortunata, choosing her words with aching care. ‘Uncle William sent me a lot of money. I want it to be used for you. In whatever way may be needful. You've given no parole now. The one you did give
they
violated, not you.'

Girard laid a restraining hand upon her arm, and said in a warning whisper, which nevertheless found a betraying echo from the stone walls: ‘Gently, my girl! Walls have ears!'

‘But no tongues,' said Cadfael as softly. ‘No, speak freely, child, it's not me you need fear. Say all you have to say to him, and let him answer you. Expect no interference from me, one way or the other.'

For answer Fortunata took up the box she was nursing, and thrust it into Elave's hands. Cadfael heard the infinitesimal chink of small coins shifting, and turned his head in time to see the slight start Elave made as he received the weight, the stiffening of the young man's shoulders and the sharp contraction of his brows. He saw him tilt the box between his hands to elicit a fainter echo of the small sound, and weigh it thoughtfully on his palms.

‘It was money Master William sent you?' said Elave consideringly. ‘I never knew what was in it. But it's yours. He sent it for you, I brought it here for you.'

‘If it profits you, it profits me,' said Fortunata. ‘Yes, I will say what I came to say, even though I know Father does not approve. I don't trust them to do you justice. I am afraid for you. I want you far away from here, and safe. This money is mine, I may do what I choose with it. It can buy a horse, shelter, food, perhaps even a man to turn a key and open the door. I want you to accept it – to accept the use of it, and whatever I can buy with it for you. I'm not afraid, except for you. I'm not ashamed. And wherever you may go, however far, I'll follow you.'

She had begun in a bleak, defiant calm, but she ended with contained and muted passion, her voice still level and low, her hands clenched together in her lap, her face very pale and fierce. Elave's hand shook as he closed it tightly over hers, pushing the box aside on his bed. After a long pause, not of hesitation, rather of an unbending resolution that had difficulty in finding the clearest but least hurtful words in which to express himself, he said quietly: ‘No! I cannot take it, or let you make such use of it for my sake. You know why. I have not changed, I shall not change. If I ran away from this charge I should be opening the door to devils, ready to bay after other honest men. If this fight is not fought out to the end now, heresy can be cried against anyone who offends his neighbour, so easy is it to accuse when there are those willing to condemn for a doubt, for a question, for a word out of place. And I will not give way. I will not budge until they come to me and tell me they find no blame in me, and ask me civilly to come forth and go my way.'

She had known all along, in spite of her persistence, that he would say no. She withdrew her hand from his very slowly, and rose to her feet, but could not for a moment bring herself to turn away from him, even when Girard took her gently by the arm.

‘But then,' said Elave deliberately, his eyes holding hers, ‘then I will take your gift – if I can also have the bride who comes with it.'

‘I have a request to make of you, Fortunata,' said Cadfael, as he crossed the great court between the silent visitors, the girl disconsolate, her fosterfather almost certainly relieved at Elave's dogged insistence on remaining where he was and relying on justice. Girard undoubtedly believed in justice. ‘Will you allow me to show this box to Brother Anselm? He's well versed in all the crafts, and may be able to say where it came from, and how old it is. I should be interested to see for what purpose he thinks it was made. You certainly can't lose by it, Anselm carries weight as an obedientiary, and he's well disposed to Elave already. Have you time now to come to the scriptorium with me? You may like to know more about your box. It surely has a value in itself.'

She gave her assent almost absently, her thoughts still left behind with Elave.

‘The lad needs all the friends he can get,' said Girard ruefully. ‘I had hoped that now the worse charge has fallen to the ground those who blamed him for all might feel some shame, and soften even on the other charge. But here's this great prelate from Canterbury claiming that over-bold thinking about belief is worse than murder. What sort of values are those? I don't know but I'd help the boy to a horse myself if he'd agreed, but I'd rather my girl had no part in it.'

‘He will not let me have any part,' said Fortunata bitterly.

‘And I think the more of him for it! And what I can do within the law to haul him safely out of this coil, that I'll do, at whatever cost. If he's the man you want, as it seems he wants you, then neither of you shall want in vain,' said Girard roundly.

Brother Anselm had his workshop in a corner carrel of the north walk of the cloister, where he kept the manuscripts of his music in neat and loving store. He was busy mending the bellows of his little portative organ when they walked in upon him, but he set it aside willingly enough when he saw the box Girard laid before him. He took it up and turned it about in the best light, to admire the delicacy of the carving, and the depth of colour time had given to the wood.