have,
or give satisfaction to the man who had taken back what he had pledged. But he
did care about his mother. So he went with Meurig.
“And
went with him first to the infirmary,” Cadfael mentioned helpfully, “to see his
old kinsman Rhys.”
The
boy was brought up short in surprise and uncertainty. It was then that Cadfael
got up, very gently and casually, from his seat by the brazier, and began to
prowl the workshop. The door, just ajar, did not noticeably draw him, but he
was well aware of the sliver of darkness and cold lancing in there.
“Yes…
I…”
“And
you had been there with him, had you not, once before, when you helped Meurig
bring down the lectern for our Lady Chapel.”
He
brightened, but his brow remained anxiously knotted. “Yes, the—yes, we did
bring that down together. But what has that…”
Cadfael
in his prowling had reached the door, and laid a hand to the latch, hunching
his shoulders, as though to close and fasten it, but as sharply plucked it wide
open on the night, and reached his free hand through, to fasten on a fistful of
thick, springy hair. A muted squeal of indignant outrage rewarded him, and the
creature without, abruptly scorning the flight shock had suggested to him,
reared upright and followed the fist into the workshop. It was, in its way, a
magnificent entrance, erect, with jutted jaw and blazing eyes, superbly
ignoring Cadfael’s clenched hold on his curls, which must have been painful.
A
slender, athletic, affronted young person the image of the first, only,
perhaps, somewhat darker and fiercer, because more frightened, and more
outraged by his fear.
“Master
Edwin Gurney?” enquired Cadfael gently, and released the topknot of rich brown
hair with a gesture almost caressing. “I’ve been expecting you.” He closed the
door, thoroughly this time; there was no one now left outside there to listen,
and take warning by what he heard, like a small, hunted animal crouching in the
night where the hunters stirred. “Well, now that you’re here, sit down with
your twin—is it uncle or nephew? I shall never get used to sorting you!—and put
yourself at ease. It’s warmer here than outside, and you are two, and I have
just been reminded gently that I am not as young as once I was. I don’t propose
to send for help to deal with you, and you have no need of help to deal with
me. Why should we not put together our versions of the truth, and see what we
have?”
The
second boy was cloakless like the first, and shivering lightly with cold. He
came to the bench by the brazier gladly, rubbing numbed hands, and sat down
submissively beside his fellow. Thus cheek to cheek they were seen to share a
very strong family likeness, in which Cadfael could trace subtle recollections
of the young Richildis, but they were not so like as to give rise to any
confusion when seen together. To encounter one alone might present a problem of
identification, however.
“So,
as I thought,” observed Cadfael, “Edwy has been playing Edwin for my benefit,
so that Edwin could stay out of the trap, if trap it turned out to be, and not
reveal himself until he was certain I had no intention of making him prisoner
and handing him over to the sheriff. And Edwy was well primed, too…”
“And
still made a hash of it,” commented Edwin, with candid and tolerant scorn.
“I
did not!” retorted Edwy heatedly. “You never told me more than half a tale.
What was I supposed to answer when Brother Cadfael asked me about going to the
infirmary this morning? Never a word you said about that.”
“Why
should I? I never gave it a thought, what difference could it make? And you did
make a hash of it. I heard you start to say grandmother instead of mother—yes,
and theyinstead of we. And so did Brother Cadfael, or how did
he guess I was listening outside?”
“He
heard you, of course! Blowing like a wheezy old man—and shivering,” added Edwy
or give satisfaction to the man who had taken back what he had pledged. But he
did care about his mother. So he went with Meurig.
“And
went with him first to the infirmary,” Cadfael mentioned helpfully, “to see his
old kinsman Rhys.”
The
boy was brought up short in surprise and uncertainty. It was then that Cadfael
got up, very gently and casually, from his seat by the brazier, and began to
prowl the workshop. The door, just ajar, did not noticeably draw him, but he
was well aware of the sliver of darkness and cold lancing in there.
“Yes…
I…”
“And
you had been there with him, had you not, once before, when you helped Meurig
bring down the lectern for our Lady Chapel.”
He
brightened, but his brow remained anxiously knotted. “Yes, the—yes, we did
bring that down together. But what has that…”
Cadfael
in his prowling had reached the door, and laid a hand to the latch, hunching
his shoulders, as though to close and fasten it, but as sharply plucked it wide
open on the night, and reached his free hand through, to fasten on a fistful of
thick, springy hair. A muted squeal of indignant outrage rewarded him, and the
creature without, abruptly scorning the flight shock had suggested to him,
reared upright and followed the fist into the workshop. It was, in its way, a
magnificent entrance, erect, with jutted jaw and blazing eyes, superbly
ignoring Cadfael’s clenched hold on his curls, which must have been painful.
A
slender, athletic, affronted young person the image of the first, only,
perhaps, somewhat darker and fiercer, because more frightened, and more
outraged by his fear.
“Master
Edwin Gurney?” enquired Cadfael gently, and released the topknot of rich brown
hair with a gesture almost caressing. “I’ve been expecting you.” He closed the
door, thoroughly this time; there was no one now left outside there to listen,
and take warning by what he heard, like a small, hunted animal crouching in the
night where the hunters stirred. “Well, now that you’re here, sit down with
your twin—is it uncle or nephew? I shall never get used to sorting you!—and put
yourself at ease. It’s warmer here than outside, and you are two, and I have
just been reminded gently that I am not as young as once I was. I don’t propose
to send for help to deal with you, and you have no need of help to deal with
me. Why should we not put together our versions of the truth, and see what we
have?”
The
second boy was cloakless like the first, and shivering lightly with cold. He
came to the bench by the brazier gladly, rubbing numbed hands, and sat down
submissively beside his fellow. Thus cheek to cheek they were seen to share a
very strong family likeness, in which Cadfael could trace subtle recollections
of the young Richildis, but they were not so like as to give rise to any
confusion when seen together. To encounter one alone might present a problem of
identification, however.
“So,
as I thought,” observed Cadfael, “Edwy has been playing Edwin for my benefit,
so that Edwin could stay out of the trap, if trap it turned out to be, and not
reveal himself until he was certain I had no intention of making him prisoner
and handing him over to the sheriff. And Edwy was well primed, too…”
“And
still made a hash of it,” commented Edwin, with candid and tolerant scorn.
“I
did not!” retorted Edwy heatedly. “You never told me more than half a tale.
What was I supposed to answer when Brother Cadfael asked me about going to the
infirmary this morning? Never a word you said about that.”
“Why
should I? I never gave it a thought, what difference could it make? And you did
make a hash of it. I heard you start to say grandmother instead of mother—yes,
and theyinstead of we. And so did Brother Cadfael, or how did
he guess I was listening outside?”
“He
heard you, of course! Blowing like a wheezy old man—and shivering,” added Edwy
Similar Books
