Virgin in the Ice
them as the door was opened.
    “My lord, here are the sheriff’s officers come south to Ludlow.” The steward had softened his bluff voice to the coaxing tone he might have used to a child, or a very sick man. “The lord Hugh Beringar comes to see you. We shall have help if we should need it, you can put your mind at rest.”
    A long and muscular but slightly shaky hand was put out to move the lamp, so that it might show host and visitors to each other more clearly. A low-pitched voice said, over somewhat quick and shallow breath: “My lord, you’re heartily welcome. God knows we seem to have need of you in these parts.” And to the steward he said: “Bring more lights, and some refreshment.” He leaned forward in the chair, gathering himself with an effort. “You find me in some disarray, I am sorry for it. They tell me I have been in fever some days. I am out of that now, but it has left me weaker than I care to be.”
    “So I see, and I am sorry,” said Hugh. “I brought a force south here, I must tell you, upon other business, but by chance it has taken me to your manor above at Callowleas. I have seen, sir, what has been done to you there. I am glad that you, and some, at least, of your people escaped alive from that massacre, and I intend to make it my business to find and root out whatever nest of vultures brought that upon you. I see you have been busy strengthening your own defenses.”
    “As best we can.”
    A woman brought candles, disposed them silently in sconces on the walls, and withdrew. The sudden brightness brought them all vividly close, eyes startled wide. Yves, who had stood rooted and stiff by Cadfael’s side, a lordling ready to confront his enemy, suddenly clutched at Cadfael’s sleeve and softened in uncertainty.
    The man in the great chair looked no more than twenty-four or twenty-five. He had heaved himself forward, and the cushions had slid down at his back. He presented to the light a face pale and hollow-cheeked, the eyes large and dark, and sunken into bruised hollows, glittering still with the hectic brilliance of fever. His thick fair hair was rumpled and on end from the pillows that had propped him. But no question, this was a very handsome and engaging person, and when in health a tall and athletic one. He was clothed and booted, plainly he had been out during the day among his men, ill-advisedly, for his boots were wet and dark with melted snow. He was bending his brows now and peering attentively at his three visitors, and when his gaze reached the boy, it halted and hung there. He was not sure. He shook his head a little, peered again, and pondered, frowning.
    “You know the boy?” asked Hugh mildly. “He is Yves Hugonin, here seeking a lost sister. If you can help us, we shall be greatly relieved, both he and I. For I think you did not retreat from Callowleas alone. Caught in a tree along the woodland track that bears this way, we found this.” He drew out the thimbleful of gilt thread that expanded to a filigree globe in the palm of his hand. “Do you know it?”
    “Only too well!” said Evrard Boterei harshly, and closed, for an instant, large full eyelids over too-bright eyes. He opened them again to look directly at Yves. “You are the young brother? Forgive me that I could not be sure of you. I have not seen you but once, I think, since you were a child. Yes, this is hers.”
    “You brought her here with you,” said Hugh, not questioning, stating. “Safe out of that attack.”
    “Yes—safe! Yes, I brought her here.” There was a fine dew of sweat on Evrard’s broad brow, but his eyes were wide open and clear.
    “We have been in search of her and her companions” said Hugh, “ever since the sub-prior of Worcester came to Shrewsbury asking after them, since all trace of them had been lost after their flight. If she is here, send for her.”
    “She is not here,” said Evrard heavily. “Nor do I know where she is. All these days between, either I or

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