The Heretic's Apprentice (27 page)

They were quite happy to tell him what they could. There was no foreboding, no tremor in the house. ‘He's away to his workshop just now,' said Girard. ‘He was down there this morning, but he said he'd left something unfinished. He'll surely be back soon. Come in and wait a while, and he'll be here. The box? I doubt it's locked away until he comes. Fortunata gave it to him last night. If it's meant to hold a book, she says, Uncle Jevan is the man who has books, let me give him the box. And he's using it for the one he most values, as she wanted. He'll be pleased to show it to you. It is a very fine thing.'

‘I won't trouble you now, if he's not here,' said Hugh. ‘I'll look in later, I'm close enough.'

They took their leave together, and Hugh went with Cadfael as far as the head of the Wyle. ‘She gave him the box,' said Hugh, frowning over a puzzle. ‘What should that mean?'

‘Bait,' said Cadfael soberly. ‘Now I do believe she has been following the same road my mind goes. But not to prove – rather to disprove if she can. But at all costs needing to
know.
He is her close and valued kin, but she is not one who can shut her eyes and pretend no wrong has ever been done. Yet still we may both be wrong, she as well as I. Well, at the worst, she is safe enough if she's at the abbey. I'll go and find her there. And as for the other one...'

‘The other one,' said Hugh, ‘leave to me.'

*

Cadfael walked in through the arch of the gatehouse into a scene of purposeful activity. It seemed he had arrived on the heels of an important personage, to whose reception the hierarchies of the house were assembling busily. Brother Porter had come in a flurry of skirts to take one bridle, Brother Jerome was contending with a groom for another one, Prior Robert was approaching from the cloister at his longest stride, Brother Denis hovered, not yet certain whether the newcomer would be housed in the guest hall or with the abbot. A flutter of brothers and novices hung at a respectful distance, ready to run any errands that might arise, and three or four of the schoolboys, sensibly withdrawn out of range of notice and censure, stood frankly staring, all eyes and ears.

And in the middle of this flurry of arrival stood Deacon Serlo, just dismounted from his mule and shaking out the skirts of his gown. A little dusty from the ride, but as rounded and pink-cheeked and wholesome as ever, and decidedly happier now that he had brought his bishop with him, and could leave all decisions to him with a quiet mind.

Bishop Roger de Clinton was just alighting from a tall roan horse, with the vigour and spring of a man half his age. For he must, Cadfael thought, be approaching sixty. He had been bishop for fourteen years, and wore his authority as easily and forthrightly as he did his plain riding clothes, and with the same patrician confidence. He was tall, and his erect bearing made him appear taller still. A man austere, competent, and of no pretensions because he needed none, there was something about him, Cadfael thought, of the warrior bishops who were becoming a rare breed these days. His face would have done just as well for a soldier as for a priest, hawk-featured, direct and resolute, with penetrating grey eyes that summed up as rapidly and decisively as they saw. He took in the whole scene about him in one sweeping glance, and surrendered his bridle to the porter as Prior Robert bore down on him, all reverence and welcome.

They moved off together towards the abbot's lodging, and the group broke apart gradually, having lost its centre. The horses were eased of their saddle-bags and led away to the stables, the hovering brothers dispersed about their various businesses, the children drifted off in search of other amusement until they should be rounded up for their early supper. And Cadfael thought of Elave, who must have heard, distantly across the court, the sounds that heralded the coming of his judge. Cadfael had seen Roger de Clinton only twice before, and had no means of knowing in what mood and what mind he came to this vexed cause. But at least he had come in person, and looked fully capable of wresting back the responsibility for his diocese and its spiritual health from anyone who presumed to trespass on his writ.

Meantime, Cadfael's immediate business was to find Fortunata. He approached the porter with his enquiry. ‘Where am I likely to find Girard of Lythwood's daughter? They told me at the house she would be here.'

‘I know the girl,' said the porter, nodding. ‘But I've seen nothing of her today.'

‘She told them at home she was coming down here. Soon after dinner, so the mother told me.'

‘I've neither seen nor spoken to her, and I've been here most of the time since noon. An errand or two to do, but I was only a matter of minutes away. Though she may have come in while my back was turned. But she'd need to speak to someone in authority. I think she'd have waited here at the gate until I came.'

Cadfael would have thought so, too. But if she'd caught sight of the prior as she waited, or Anselm, or Denis, she might very well have accosted one of them with her petition. Cadfael sought out Denis, whose duties kept him most of the time around the court, and within sight of the gate, but Denis had seen nothing of Fortunata. She was acquainted now with Anselm's little kingdom in the north walk, she might have made her way there, seeking for someone she knew. But Anselm shook his head decidedly, no, she had not been there. Not only was she not to be found within the precinct now, but it seemed she had not set foot in it all day.

The bell for Vespers found Cadfael hovering irresolute over what he ought to do, and reminded him sternly of his obligations to the vocation he had accepted of his own free will, and sometimes reproached himself for neglecting. There are more ways of approaching a problem than by belligerent action. The mind and the will have also something to say in the unending combat. Cadfael turned towards the south porch and joined the procession of his brothers into the dim, cool cavern of the choir, and prayed fervently for Aldwin, dead and buried in his piteous human imperfection, and for William of Lythwood, come home contented and shriven to rest in his own place, and for all those trammelled and tormented by suspicion and doubt and fear, the guilty as well as the innocent, for who needs succour more? Whether he was building a fantastic folly round a book which might not even exist, or confronting a serious peril for any who blundered on too much knowledge, one crime was hard and clear as black crystal, someone had taken the sad, inoffensive life of Aldwin the clerk, of whom the one man he had injured had said honestly: ‘Everything he has said that I said, I
did
say.' But someone else, to whom he had done nothing, had slipped a dagger between his ribs from behind and killed him.

Cadfael emerged from Vespers consoled, but not the less aware of his own responsibilities. It was still full daylight, but with the slanting evening radiance about it, and the stillness of the air that seemed to dim all colours into a diaphanous pearly sheen. There remained one enquiry he could still make, before going further. It was just possible that Fortunata, grown dubious of venturing to ask admittance to Elave so soon after a first visit, had simply asked someone at the gate, in the porter's brief absence, to carry a message to the prisoner, nothing to which any man could raise objection, merely to remind him his friends thought of him, and beg him to keep up his courage. It might not mean anything that Cadfael had not encountered her on her way home, she might already have been back in the town, and used the time to some other purpose before returning home. At least he would have a word with the boy, and satisfy himself he was anxious to no purpose.

He took the key from where it hung in the porch, and went to let himself into the cell. Elave swung round from his little desk, and turned a frowning face because he had been narrowing his eyes and knitting his brows in the dimming light over one of Augustine's more humane and ecstatic sermons. The apparent cloud cleared as soon as he left poring over the cramped minuscule of the text. Other people feared for him, but it seemed to Cadfael that Elave himself was quite free from fear, and had not shown even as restive in his close confinement.

‘There's something of the monk in you,' said Cadfael, speaking his thoughts aloud. ‘You may end up under a cowl yet.'

‘Never!' said Elave fervently, and laughed aloud at the notion.

‘Well, perhaps it would be a waste, seeing what other ideas you have for the future. But you have the mind for it. Travelling the world or penned in a stone cell, neither of them upsets your balance. So much the better for you! Has anyone thought to tell you that the bishop's come? In person! He pays you a compliment, for Coventry's nearer the turmoil than we are here, and he needs to keep a close eye on his church there, so time given to your case is a mark of your importance. And it may be a short time, for he looks a man who can make up his mind briskly.'

‘I heard the to-do about someone arriving,' said Elave. ‘I heard the horses on the cobbles. But I didn't know who it might be. Then he'll be wanting me soon?' At Cadfael's questioning glance he smiled, though seriously enough. ‘I'm ready. I want it, too. I've made good use of my time here. I've found that even this Augustine went through many changes of mind over the years. You could take some of his early writings, and they say the very opposite of what he said in old age. That, and a dozen changes between. Cadfael, did you ever think what a waste it would be if you burned a man for what he believed at twenty, when what he might believe and write at forty would be hailed as the most blessed of holy writ?'

‘That is the kind of argument to which the most of men never listen,' said Cadfael, ‘Otherwise they would baulk at taking any life. You haven't been visited today, have you?'

‘Only by Anselm. Why?'

‘Nor had any message from Fortunata?'

‘No. Why?' repeated Elave with sharper urgency, seeing Cadfael frown. ‘All's well with her, I trust?'

‘So I trust also,' agreed Cadfael, ‘and so it should be. She told her family she was coming down to the abbey to ask if she could see you again, or get word of any progress in your case, that's why I asked. But no one has seen her. She hasn't been here.'

‘And that troubles you,' said Elave sharply. ‘Why should it matter? What is it you have in mind? Is there some threat to her? Are you
afraid
for her?'

‘Let's say I should be glad to know that she's safe at home. As surely she must be. Afraid, no! But you must remember there is a murderer loose among us, and close to that household, and I would rather she kept to home and safe company than go anywhere alone. But as for today, I left Hugh Beringar keeping a close watch on the house and all who stir in and out of it, so set your mind at rest.'

They had neither of them been paying any attention to the passing sounds without, the brief ring of hooves distant across the court, the rapid exchange of voices, short and low, and then the light feet coming at an impetuous walk. It startled them both when the door of the cell was flung open before a gust of evening air and the abrupt entry of Hugh Beringar.

‘They told me I should find you here,' he said, high and breathless with haste. ‘They say the girl is
not
here, and has not been since yesterday. Is that true?'

‘She has not come home?' said Cadfael, aghast.

‘Nor she nor the other. The dame's beginning to be anxious. I thought best to come down and fetch the girl home myself if she was still here, but now I find she has not been here, and I know she is not at home, for I'm fresh come from there. So long away, and not where she said she'd be!'

Elave clutched at Cadfael's arm, shaking him vehemently in his bewilderment and alarm. ‘The other? What other? What is happening? Are you saying she may be in danger?'

Cadfael fended him off with a restraining arm, and demanded of Hugh: ‘Have you sent to the workshop?'

‘Not yet! She might have been here, and safe enough. Now I'm going there myself. Come with me! I'll see you excused to Father Abbot afterwards.'

‘I will well!' said Cadfael fervently, and was starting for the door, but Elave hung upon him desperately, and could not be shaken off.

‘You
shall
tell me! What other? What man? Who is it threatens her? The workshop... whose?' And on the instant he knew, and moaned the name aloud: ‘Jevan! The book – you believe in it... You think it was
he
...?' He was on his feet, hurling himself at the open doorway, but Hugh stood solidly in his way, braced between the jambs.

‘Let me go! I
will
go! Let me out to go to her!'

‘Fool!' said Hugh brusquely, ‘don't make things worse for yourself. Leave this to us, what more could you do than we can and will? Now, with the bishop already here, see to your own weal, and trust us to take care of hers.' And he shifted aside enough to order Cadfael, with a jerk of his head: ‘Out, and fit the key!' and forthwith gripped Elave struggling in his arms, and bore him back to trip him neatly with a heel and tip him onto his bed. By the time he had sprung again like a wildcat, Hugh was outside the door, Cadfael had the key in the lock, and Elave thudded against the timber with a bellow of rage and despair, still a prisoner.

They heard him battering at the door and shouting wild appeals after them as they made for the gatehouse. They would surely hear him right across the court and into the guest-hall, all the windows being open to the air.

‘I sent to saddle up a horse for you,' said Hugh, ‘as soon as I heard she was not here. I can think of nowhere else she might have gone, and seeing he went back there... Has she been searching? Did he find out?'

The porter had accepted the sheriff's orders as if they came from the abbot himself, and was already leading a saddled pony up from the stable yard at a brisk trot.

‘We'll go straight through the town, it's quicker than riding round.'