An Excellent Mystery (3 page)

“And
bound further? Or will you stay with us for a while? You’ll be heartily welcome
visitors, you and the young brother here.”

The
younger rider hovered silently, a little apart, as a servant might have done in
dutiful attendance on his master. He was surely scarcely past twenty, lissome
and tall, though his companion would top him by a head if they stood together.
He had the oval, smooth, boy’s face of his years, but formed and firm for all
its suave planes. His cowl was drawn forward over his face, perhaps against the
sun’s glare. Large, shadowed eyes gazed out from the hood, fixed steadily upon
his elder. The one glance they flashed at Cadfael was as quickly averted.

“We
look to stay here for some time, if the lord abbot will give us refuge,” said
the older man, “for we have lost one roof, and must beg admittance under
another.”

They
had begun to move on at a leisurely walk, the dust of the Foregate powder-fine
under the hooves of the mules. The young man fell in meekly behind, and let
them lead. To the civil greetings that saluted them along the way, where
Cadfael was well known, and these his companions matter for friendly curiosity,
the older man made quiet, courteous response. The younger said never a word.

The
gatehouse and the church loomed, ahead on their left, the high wall beside them
reflected heat from its stones. The rider let the reins hang loose on his
mule’s neck, folded veined hands, long-fingered and brown, and fetched a long
sigh. Cadfael held his peace.

“Forgive
me that I answer almost churlishly, brother, it is not meant so. After the
habit and the daily company of silence, speech comes laboriously. And after a
holocaust, and the fires of destruction, the throat is too dry to manage many
words. You asked if we had come far. We have been some days on the road, for I
cannot ride hard these days. We are come like beggars from the south…”

“From
Winchester!” said Cadfael with certainty, recalling the foreboding, the cloud
and the fire.

“From
what is left of Winchester.” The worn but muscular hands were quite still,
leaving it to Cadfael to lead the mule round the west end of the church and in
at the arch of the gatehouse. It was not grief or passion that made it hard for
the man to speak, he had surely seen worse in his time than he was now
recalling. The chords of his voice creaked from under-use, and slowed upon the
grating echo. A beautiful voice it must have been in its heyday, before the
velvet frayed. “Is it possible,” he said wonderingly, “that we come the first?
I had thought word would have flown thus far north almost a week ago, but true,
escape this way would have been no simple matter. Have we to bring the news,
then? The great ones fell out over us. Who am I to complain, who have had my
part in the like, elsewhere? The empress laid siege to the bishop in his castle
of Wolvesey, in the city, and the bishop rained fire-arrows down upon the roofs
rather than upon his enemies. The town is laid waste. A nunnery burned to the
ground, churches razed, and my priory of Hyde Mead, that Bishop Henry so
desired to take into his own hands, is gone forever, brought down in flames. We
are here, we two, homeless and asking shelter. The brothers are scattered
through all the Benedictine houses of the land, wherever they have ties of
blood or friendship. There will never be any going home to Hyde.”

So
it was true. The finger of God had pointed one poor devil out of the trap, and
let him look back from a hill to see the scarlet and the black of fire and
smoke devour a city. Bishop Henry’s own city, to which his own hand had set
light.

“God
sort all!” said Cadfael.

“Doubtless
he will!” The voice with its honeyed warmth and abrasive echo rang under the
archway of the gatehouse. Brother Porter came out, smiling welcome, and a groom
came running for the horses, sighting fraternal visitors. The great court
opened serene in sunshine, crossed and re-crossed by busy, preoccupied people,
brothers, lay brothers, stewards, all about their normal, mastered affairs. The
child oblates and schoolboys, let loose from their studies, were tossing a
ball, their shrill voices gay and piercing in the still half-hour before noon.
Life here made itself heard, felt and seen, as regular as the seasons.

They
halted within the gate. Cadfael held the stirrup for the stranger, though there
was no need, for he lighted down as naturally as a bird settling and folding
its wings; but slowly, with languid grace, and stood to unfold a long, graceful
but enfeebled body, well above six feet tall, and lance-straight as it was
lance-lean. The young one had leaped from the saddle in an instant, and stood
baulked, circling uneasily, jealous of Cadfael’s ministering hand. And still
made no sound, neither of gratitude nor protest.

I’ll
be your herald to Abbot Radulfus,” said Cadfael, “if you’ll permit. What shall
I say to him?”

“Say
that Brother Humilis and Brother Fidelis, of the sometime priory of Hyde Mead,
which is laid waste, ask audience and protection of his goodness, in all
submission, and in the name of the Rule.”

This
man had surely known little in the past of humility, and little of submission,
though he had embraced both now with a whole heart.

“I
will say so,” said Cadfael, and turned for a moment to the young brother,
expecting his amen. The cowled head inclined modestly, the oval face was hidden
in shadow, but there was no voice.

“Hold
my young friend excused,” said Brother Humilis, erect by his mule’s milky head,
“if he cannot speak his greeting. Brother Fidelis is dumb.”

Chapter Two

BRING
OUR BROTHERS IN to me,” said Abbot Radulfus, rising from his desk in surprise
and concern when Cadfael had reported to him the arrivals, and the bare bones
of their story. He pushed aside parchment and pen and stood erect, dark and
tall against the brilliant sunlight through the parlour window. “That this
should ever be! City and church laid waste together! Certainly they are welcome
here lifelong, if need be. Bring them hither, Cadfael. And remain with us. You
may be their guide afterwards, and bring them to Prior Robert. We must make
appropriate places for them in the dortoir.”

Cadfael
went on his errand well content not to be dismissed, and led the newcomers down
the length of the great court to the corner where the abbot’s lodging lay
sheltered in its small garden. What there was to be learned from the travellers
of affairs in the south he was eager to learn, and so would Hugh be, when he
knew of their coming. For this time news had been unwontedly slow on the road,
and matters might have been moving with considerably greater speed down in
Winchester since the unlucky brothers of Hyde dispersed to seek refuge
elsewhere.

“Father
Abbot, here are Brother Humilis and Brother Fidelis.”

It
seemed dark in the little wood-panelled parlour after the radiance without, and
the two tall, masterful men stood studying each other intently in the warm,
shadowy stillness. Radulfus himself had drawn forward stools for the newcomers,
and with a motion of a long hand invited them to be seated, but the young one
drew back deferentially into deeper shadow and remained standing. He could
never be the spokesman; that might well be the reason for his self-effacement.
But Radulfus, who had yet to learn of the young man’s disability, certainly
noted the act, and observed it without either approval or disapproval.

“Brothers,
you are very welcome in our house, and all we can provide is yours. I hear you
have had a long ride, and a sad loss that has driven you forth. I grieve for
our brothers of Hyde. But here at least we hope to offer you tranquillity of
mind, and a secure shelter. In these lamentable wars we have been fortunate.
You, the elder, are Brother Humilis?”

“Yes,
Father. Here I present you our prior’s letter, commending us both to your
kindness.” He had carried it in the breast of his habit, and now drew it forth
and laid it on the abbot’s desk. “You will know, Father, that the abbey of Hyde
has been an abbey without an abbot for two years now. They say commonly that
Bishop Henry had it in mind to bring it into his own hands as an episcopal
convent, which the brothers strongly resisted, and denying us a head may well have
been a move designed to weaken us and reduce our voice. Now that is of no
consequence, for the house of Hyde is gone, razed to the ground and blackened
by fire.”

“Is
it such entire destruction?” asked Radulfus, frowning over his linked hands.

“Utter
destruction. In time to come a new house may be raised there, who knows? But of
the old nothing remains.”

“You
had best tell me all that you can,” said Radulfus heavily. “Here we live far
from these events, almost in peace. How did this holocaust come about?”

Brother
Humilis — what could his proud name have been before he thus calmly claimed for
himself humility? — folded his hands in the lap of his habit, and fixed his
hollow dark eyes upon the abbot’s face. There was a creased scar, long ago
healed and pale, marking the left side of his tonsure, Cadfael noted, and knew,
the crescent shape of a glancing stroke from a right-handed swordsman. It did
not surprise him. No straight western sword, but a Seljuk scimitar. So that was
where he had got the bronze that had now faded and sickened into dun.

“The
empress entered Winchester towards the end of July. I do not recall the date,
and took up her residence in the royal castle by the west gate. She sent to
Bishop Henry in his palace to come to her, but they say he sent back word that
he would come, but must a little delay, by what excuse I never heard. He
delayed too long, but by what followed he made good use of such days of grace
as he had, for by the time the empress lost patience and moved up her forces
against him he was safely shut up in his new castle of Wolvesey, in the
south-east corner of the city, backed into the wall. And the queen, or so they
said in the town, was moving her Flemings up in haste to his aid. Whether or
no, he had a great garrison within there, and well supplied. I ask pardon of
God and of you, Father,” said Brother Humilis gently, “that I took such pains
to follow these warlike reports, but my training was in arms, and a man cannot
altogether forget.”

“God
forbid,” said Radulfus, “that a man should feel he need forget anything that
was done in good faith and loyal service. In arms or in the cloister, we have
all a score to pay to this country and this people. Closed eyes are of little
use to either. Go on! Who struck the first blow?”

For
they had been allies only a matter of weeks earlier!

“The
empress. She moved to surround Wolvesey as soon as she knew he had shut himself
in. Everything they had they used against the castle, even such engines as they
were able to raise. And they pulled down any buildings, shops, houses, all that
lay too close, to clear the ground. But the bishop had a strong garrison, and
his walls are new. He began to build, as I hear, only ten years or so ago. It
was his men who first used firebrands. Much of the city within the wall has
burned, churches, a nunnery, shops, it might not have been so terrible if the
season had not been high summer, and so dry.”

“And
Hyde Mead?”

“There’s
no knowing from which side came the arrows that set us alight. The fighting had
spilled outside the city walls by then, and there was looting, as always,” said
Brother Humilis. “We fought the fire as long as we could, but there was none
besides to help us, and it was too fierce, we could not bring it under. Our
prior ordered that we withdraw into the countryside, and so we did. Somewhat
short of our number,” he said. “There were deaths.”

Always
there were deaths, and usually of the innocent and helpless. Radulfus stared
with locked brows into the chalice of his linked hands, and thought.

“The
prior lived to write letters. Where is he now?”

“Safe,
in a manor of a kinsman, some miles from the city. He has ordered our
withdrawal, dispersing the brothers wherever they might best find shelter. I
asked if I might come to beg asylum here in Shrewsbury, and Brother Fidelis
with me. And we are come, and are in your hands.”

“Why?”
asked the abbot. “Welcome indeed you are, I ask only, why here?”

“Father,
some mile or two up-river from here, on a manor called Salton, I was born. I
had a fancy to see the place again, or at least be near it, before I die.” He
smiled, meeting the penetrating eyes beneath the knotted brows. “It was the
only property my father held in this shire. There I was born, as it so
happened. A man displaced from his last home may well turn back to his first.”

“You
say well. So far as is in us, we will supply that home. And your young
brother?” Fidelis put back the cowl from his neck, bent his head reverently,
and made a small outward sweep of submissive hands, but no sound.

“Father,
he cannot speak for himself, I offer thanks from us both. I have not been
altogether in my best health in Hyde, and Brother Fidelis, out of pure
kindness, has become my faithful friend and attendant. He has no kinsfolk to
whom he can go, he elects to be with me and tend me as before. If you will
permit.” He waited for the acknowledging nod and smile before he added:
“Brother Fidelis will serve God here with every faculty he has. I know him, and
I answer for him. But one, his voice, he cannot employ. Brother Fidelis is
mute.”