The Summer of the Danes by Ellis Peters Page A

now free to change
his place, or go out to walk in the fresh air of the late evening, there was
considerable movement in the hall, and in the noise of many conversations and
the music of the harpers, in the smoke of the torches and the obscurity of the
shadowy corners, who was to keep a steady eye upon one man among so many?
Cadfael marked the departure of Gwion from among the young men of the
household, but still Bledri ap Rhys sat in his modest place towards the foot of
the high table, serenely enjoying his mead—but in moderation, Cadfael noted—and
narrowly observing everything that passed about him. He appeared to be
cautiously impressed by the strength and strict order of the royal household,
and the numbers, discipline and confidence of the young men of the guard. “I
think,” said Brother Mark softly into Cadfael’s ear, “we might have the chapel
to ourselves if we go now.”
    It
was about the hour of Compline. Brother Mark would not rest if he neglected the
office. Cadfael rose and went with him, out from the doorway of the great hall
into the cool and freshness of the night, and across the inner ward to the
timber chapel against the outer wall. It was not yet fully dark nor very late,
the determined drinkers still in hall would not end their gathering yet, but in
the shadowy passages between the buildings of the maenol those who had duties
about the place moved without haste, and quietly, going about their usual tasks
in the easy languor of the end of a long and satisfactory day.
    They
were still some yards from the door of the chapel when a man emerged from it, and
turned along the row of lodgings that lined the wall of the ward, to disappear
into one of the narrow passages behind the great hall. He did not pass them
close, and he might have been any one of the taller and elder of the
frequenters of Owain’s court. He was in no haste, but going tranquilly and a
little wearily to his night’s rest, yet Cadfael’s mind was so persistently
running upon Bledri ap Rhys that he was virtually certain of the man’s
identity, even in the deepening dusk.
    He
was quite certain when they entered the chapel, dimly lit by the rosy eye of
the constant lamp on the altar, and beheld the shadowy outline of a man
kneeling a little aside from the small pool of light. He was not immediately
aware of them, or at least seemed not to be, though they had entered without
any great care to preserve silence; and when they checked and hung back in
stillness to avoid interrupting his prayers he gave no sign, but continued
bowed and preoccupied, his face in shadow. At length he stirred, sighed and rose
to his feet, and passing them by on his way out, without surprise, he gave
them: “Goodnight, Brothers!” in a low voice. The small red eye of the altar
lamp drew his profile on the air clearly, but only for a moment; long enough,
however, to show plainly the young, intense, brooding features of Gwion.
     
    Compline
was long over, and midnight past, and they were peacefully asleep in their
small, shared lodging, when the alarm came. The first signs, sudden clamour at
the main gate of the maenol, the muted thudding of hooves entering, the
agitated exchange of voices between rider and guard, passed dreamlike and
distant through Cadfael’s senses without breaking his sleep, but Mark’s younger
ear, and mind hypersensitive to the excitement of the day, started him awake
even before the murmur of voices rose into loud orders, and the men of the
household began to gather in the ward, prompt but drowsy from the rushes of the
hall and the many lodgings of the maenol. Then what was left of the night’s
repose was shattered brazenly by the blasting of a horn, and Cadfael rolled
from his brychan on to his feet, wide-awake and braced for action. “What’s
afoot?”
    “Someone
rode in. In a hurry! Only one horseman!”
    “They
would not rouse the court for a little thing,” said Cadfael,