probably considered his secrets. Where Edwy was, there would Edwin be, if Richildis
had reported them truly. When trouble threatened the one, the other would be by
his side. It was a virtue Cadfael strongly approved.
The
night was very still, there would be sharp frost by dawn. Only the gently
bubbling of his brew and the occasional rustling of his own sleeve as he
stirred punctured the silence. He had begun to think that the fish had refused
the bait, when he caught, past ten o’clock, and in the blackest of the
darkness, the faint, slow sound of the door-latch being carefully raised. A
breath of cold air came in as the door opened a hair’s-breadth. He sat still
and gave no sign; the frightened wild thing might be easily alarmed. After a
moment a very light, young, wary voice outside uttered just above a whisper:
“Brother Cadfael…?”
“I’m
here,” said Cadfael quietly. “Come in and welcome.”
“You’re
alone?” breathed the voice.
“I
am. Come in and close the door.”
The
boy stole in fearfully, and pushed the door to at his back, but Cadfael noticed
that he did not latch it. “I got word…” He was not going to say through whom.
“They told me you spoke with my sister and brother this evening, and said you
would be here. I do need a friend… You said you knew my gr—my mother, years
ago, you are the Cadfael she used to speak about so often, the one who went to
the Crusade… I swear I had no part in my stepfather’s death! I never knew any
harm had come to him, till I was told thesheriff’s men were
hunting for me as a murderer. You said my mother knows you for a good friend,
and can rely on your help, so I’ve come to you. There’s no one else I can turn
to. Help me! Please help me!”
“Come
to the fire,” said Cadfael mildly, “and sit down here. Draw breath and answer
me one thing truly and solemnly, and then we can talk. On your soul, mind! Did
you strike the blow that laid Gervase Bonel dead in his blood!”
The
boy had perched himself gingerly on the edge of the bench, almost but not quite
within touch. The light from the brazier, cast upwards over his face and form,
showed a rangy, agile youngster, lightly built but tall for his years, in the
long hose and short cotte of the country lads, with capuchon dangling at his
back, and a tangled mop of curling hair uncovered. By this reddish light it
looked chestnut-brown, by daylight it might well be the softer mid-brown of
seasoned oak. His face was still childishly rounded of cheek and chin, but fine
bones were beginning to give it a man’s potential. At this moment half the face
was two huge, wary eyes staring unwaveringly at Brother Cadfael.
Most
earnestly and vehemently the boy said: “I never raised hand against him. He
insulted me in front of my mother, and I hated him then, but I did not strike
him. I swear it on my soul!”
Even
the young, when bright in the wits and very much afraid, may exercise all
manner of guile to protect themselves, but Cadfael was prepared to swear there
was no deceit here. The boy really did not know how Bonel had been killed; that
could not have been reported to his family or cried in the streets, and murder,
most often, means the quick blow with steel in anger. He had accepted that
probability without question.
“Very
well! Now tell me your own story of what happened there today, and be sure I’m
listening.”
The
boy licked his lips and began. What he had to tell agreed with the account Richildis
had given; he had gone with Meurig, at his well-intentioned urging, to make his
peacewith Bonel for his mother’s sake. Yes, he had felt very
bitter and angry about being cheated out of his promised heritage, for he loved
Mallilie and had good friends there, and would have done his best to run it
well and fairly when it came to him; but also he was doing well enough at
learning his craft, and pride would not let him covet what he could not
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