An Excellent Mystery by Ellis Peters Page A

stepping for a moment into
the choir, to cast a glance and a thought towards Saint Winifred’s altar, in
affectionate remembrance of their first encounter, and gratitude for her
forbearance. He did so now, and checked abruptly before venturing nearer. For
there was one of the brothers kneeling at the foot of the altar, and the tiny
red glow of the lamp showed him the uplifted face, fast-closed eyes and
prayerfully folded hands of Fidelis. Showed him no less clearly, as he drew
softly nearer, the tears glittering on the young man’s cheeks. A perfectly
still face, but for the mute lips moving soundlessly on his prayers, and the
tears welling slowly from beneath his closed eyelids and spilling on to his
breast. The shocks of the day might well send him here, now his charge was
sleeping, to put up fervent prayers for a better ending to the story. But why
should his face seem rather that of a penitent than an innocent appellant? And
a penitent unsure of absolution!
    Cadfael
slipped away very quietly to the night stairs and left the boy the entire
sheltering space of the church for his inexplicable pain.
    The
other figure, motionless in the darkest corner of the choir, did not stir until
Cadfael had departed, and even then waited long moments before stealing forward
by inches, with held breath, over the chilly paving.
    A
naked foot touched the hem of Fidelis’s habit, and as hastily and delicately
drew back again from the contact. A hand was outstretched to hover over the
oblivious head, longing to touch and yet not daring until the continued silence
and stillness gave it courage. Tensed fingers sank into the curling russet that
ringed the tonsure, the light touch set the hand quivering, like the pricking
of imminent lightning in the air before a storm. If Fidelis also sensed it, he
gave no sign. Even when the fingers stirred lovingly in his hair, and stroked
down into the nape of his neck within the cowl he did not move, but rather
froze where he kneeled, and held his breath.
    “Fidelis,”
whispered a hushed and aching voice close at his shoulder. “Brother, never
grieve alone! Turn to me… I could comfort you, for everything, everything…
whatever your need…”
    The
stroking palm circled his neck, but before it reached his cheek Fidelis had
started to his feet in one smooth movement, resolute and unalarmed, and swung
out of reach. Without haste, or perhaps unwilling to show his face, even by
this dim light, until he had mastered it, he turned to look upon the intruder
into his solitude, for whispers have no identity, and he had never before taken
any particular notice of Brother Urien. He did so now, with wide and wary grey
eyes. A dark, passionate, handsome man, one who should never have shut himself
in within these walls, one who burned, and might burn others before ever he
grew cool at last. He stared back at Fidelis, and his face was wrung and his
outstretched hand quaked, yearning towards Fidelis’s sleeve, which was
withdrawn from him austerely before he could grasp it.
    “I’ve
watched you,” breathed the husky, whispering voice, “I know every motion and
grace. Waste, waste of youth, waste of beauty… Don’t go! No one sees us now…”
    Fidelis
turned his back steadily, and walked out from the choir towards the night
stairs. Silent on the tiled floor, Urien’s naked feet followed him, the
tormented whisper followed him.
    “Why
turn your back on loving kindness? You will not always do so. Think of me! I
will wait…”
    Fidelis began to
climb the stairs. The pursuer halted at the foot, too sick with anguish to go
where other men might still be wakeful. “Unkind, unkind…” wailed the faintest
thread of a voice, receding, and then, with barely audible but extreme
bitterness: “If not here, in another place… If not now, at another time!”

 
     
     
    Chapter Six
     
    NICHOLAS
COMMANDEERED A CHANGE OF HORSES twice on the way south, leaving those