An Excellent Mystery (7 page)

The
porter came amiably to greet him and ask his business. Brother Cadfael and Hugh
Beringar, still at their leisurely leave-taking close by, turned to examine the
newcomer, noted his business-like and well-used harness and leathern coat slung
behind, and the sword he wore, and had him accurately docketed in a moment.
Hugh stiffened, attentive, for a man in soldier’s gear heading in from the
south might well have news. Moreover, one who came alone and at ease here
through these shires loyal to King Stephen was likely to be of the same
complexion. Hugh went forward to join the colloquy, eyeing the horseman up and
down with restrained approval of his appearance.

“You’re
not, by chance, seeking me, friend? Hugh Beringar, at your service.”

“This
is the lord sheriff,” said Brother Porter by way of introduction; and to Hugh:
“The traveller is asking for Brother Humilis — though by his former name.”

“I
was some years in the service of Godfrid Marescot,” said the horseman, and slid
his reins loose and lighted down to stand beside them. He was taller than Hugh
by half a head, and strongly made, and his brown countenance was open and
cheerful, lit by strikingly blue eyes. “I’ve been hunting for him among the
brothers dispersed in Winchester after Hyde burned to the ground. They told me
he’d chosen to come here. I have some business in the north of the shire, and
need his approval for what I intend. To tell the truth,” he said with a wry
smile, “I had clean forgotten the name he took when he entered Hyde. To me he’s
still my lord Godfrid.”

“So
he must be to many,” said Hugh, “who knew him aforetime. Yes, he’s here. Are
you from Winchester now?”

“From
Andover. Where we’ve burned the town,” said the young man bluntly, and studied
Hugh as attentively as he himself was being studied. It was plain they were of
the same party.

“You’re
with the queen’s army?”

“I
am. Under FitzRobert.”

“Then
you’ll have cut the roads to the north. I hold this shire for King Stephen, as
you must know. I would not keep you from your lord, but will you ride with me
into Shrewsbury and sup at my house before you move on? I’ll wait your
convenience. You can give me what I’m hungry for, news of what goes forward
there in the south. May I know your name? I’ve given you mine.”

“My
name is Nicholas Harnage. And very heartily I’ll tell you all I know, my lord,
when I’ve done my errand here. How is it with Godfrid?” he asked earnestly, and
looked from Hugh to Cadfael, who stood by watching, listening, and until now
silent.

“Not
in the best of health,” said Cadfael, “but neither was he, I suppose, when you
last parted from him. He has broken an old wound, but that came, I think, after
his long ride here. It is mending well now, in a day or two he’ll be up and
back to the duties he’s chosen. He is well loved, and well tended by a young
brother who came here with him from Hyde, and had been his attendant there. If
you’ll wait but a moment I’ll tell Father Prior that Brother Humilis has a
visitor, and bring you to him.”

That
errand he did very briskly, to leave the pair of them together for a few
minutes. Hugh needed tidings, all the firsthand knowledge he could get from
that distant and confused battlefield, where two factions of his enemies, by
their mutual clawings, had now drawn in the whole formidable array of his
friends upon one side. A shifty side at best, seeing the bishop had changed his
allegiance now for the third time. But at least it held the empress’s forces in
a steel girdle now in the city of Winchester, and was tightening the girdle to
starve them out. Cadfael’s warrior blood, long since abjured, had a way of
coming to the boil when he heard steel in the offing. His chief uneasiness was
that he could not be truly penitent about it. His king was not of this world,
but in this world he could not help having a preference.

Prior
Robert was taking his afternoon rest, which was known to others as his hour of
study and prayer. A good time, since he was not disposed to rouse himself and
come out to view the visitor, or exert himself to be ceremoniously hospitable.
Cadfael got what he had counted on, a gracious permission to conduct the guest
to Brother Humilis in his cell, and attend him to provide whatever assistance
he might require. In addition, of course, to Father Prior’s greetings and
blessing, sent from his daily retreat into meditation.

They
had had time to grow familiar and animated while he had been absent, he saw it
in their faces, and the easy turn of both heads, hearing his returning step.
They would ride together into the town already more than comrades in arms,
potential friends.

“Come
with me,” said Cadfael, “and I’ll bring you to Brother Humilis.”

On
the day stairs the young, earnest voice at his shoulder said quietly: “Brother,
you have been doctoring my lord since this fit came on. So the lord sheriff
told me. He says you have great skills in herbs and medicine and healing.”

“The
lord sheriff,” said Cadfael, “is my good friend for some years, and thinks
better of me than I deserve. But, yes, I do tend your lord, and thus far we two
do well together. You need not fear he is not valued truly, we do know his
worth. See him, and judge for yourself. For you must know what he suffered in
the east. You were with him there?”

“Yes.
I’m from his own lands, I sailed when he sent for a fresh force, and shipped
some elders and wounded for home. And I came back with him, when he knew his
usefulness there was ended.”

“Here,”
said Cadfael, with his foot on the top stair, “his usefulness is far from
ended. There are young men here who live the brighter by his light — under the
light by which we all live, that’s understood. You may find two of them with
him now. If one of them lingers, let him, he has the right. That’s his
companion from Hyde.”

They
emerged into the corridor that ran the whole length of the dortoir, between the
partitioned cells, and stood at the opening of the dim, narrow space allotted
to Humilis.

“Go in,” said
Cadfael. “You do not need a herald to be welcome.”

Chapter Four

IN
THE CELL THE LITTLE LAMP FOR READING WAS NOT LIGHTED, since one of the young
attendants could not read, and the other could not speak, while the incumbent
himself still lay propped up with pillows in his cot, too weak to nurse a heavy
book. But if Rhun could not read well, he could learn by heart, and recite what
he had learned with feeling and warmth, and he was in the middle of a prayer of
Saint Augustine which Brother Paul had taught him, when he felt suddenly that
he had an audience larger than he had bargained for, and faltered and fell
silent, turning towards the open end of the cell.

Nicholas
Harnage stood hesitant within the doorway, until his eyes grew accustomed to
the dim light. Brother Humilis had opened his eyes in wonder when Rhun
faltered. He beheld the best-loved and most trusted of his former squires
standing almost timorously at the foot of his bed.

“Nicholas?”
he ventured, doubtful and wondering, heaving himself up to stare more intently.

Brother
Fidelis stooped at once to prop and raise him, and brace the pillows at his
back, and then as silently withdrew into the dark corner of the cell, to leave
the field to the visitor.

“Nicholas!
It is you!”

The
young man went forward and fell on his knee to clasp and kiss the thin hand
stretched out to him.

“Nicholas,
what are you doing here? You’re welcome as the morning, but I never looked to
see you in this place. It was kind indeed to seek me out in such a distant
refuge. Come, sit by me here. Let me see you close!”

Rhun
had slipped away silently. From the doorway he made a small reverence before he
vanished. Fidelis took a step to follow him, but Humilis laid a hand on his arm
to detain him.

“No,
stay! Don’t leave us! Nicholas, to this young brother I owe more than I can
ever repay. He serves me as truly in this field as you did in arms.”

“All
who have been your men, like me, will be grateful to him,” said Nicholas
fervently, looking up into a face shadowed by the cowl, and as featureless as
voiceless in this half-darkness. If he wondered at getting no answer, but only
an inclination of the head by way of acknowledgement, he shrugged it off
without another thought, for it was of no importance that he should reach a
closer acquaintance with one he might never see again. He drew the stool close
to the bedside, and sat studying the emaciated face of his lord with deep
concern.

“They
tell me you are mending well. But I see you leaner and more fallen than when I
left you, that time in Hyde, and went to do your errand. I had a long search in
Winchester to find your prior, and enquire of him where you were gone. Need you
have chosen to ride so far? The bishop would have taken you into the Old
Minster, and been glad of you.”

“I
doubt if I should have been so glad of the bishop,” said Brother Humilis with a
wry little smile. “No, I had my reasons for coming so far north. This shire and
this town I knew as a child. A few years only, but they are the years a man
remembers later in life. Never trouble for me, Nick, I’m very well here, as
well as any other place, and better than most. Let us speak rather of you. How
have you fared in your new service, and what has brought you here to my bedside?”

“I’ve
thrived, having your commendation. William of Ypres has mentioned me to the
queen, and would have taken me among his officers, but I’d rather stay with
FitzRobert’s English than go to the Flemings. I have a command. It was you who
taught me all I know,” he said, at once glowing and sad, “you and the mussulmen
of Mosul.”

“It
was not the Atabeg Zenghi,” said Brother Humilis, smiling, “whose affairs sent
you here so far to seek me out. Leave him to the King of Jerusalem, whose noble
and perilous business he is. What of Winchester, since I fled from it?”

The
queen’s armies have encircled it. Few men get out, and no food gets in. The
empress’s men are shut tight in their castle, and their stores must be running
very low. We came north to straddle the road by Andover. As yet nothing moves,
therefore I got leave to ride north on my own business. But they must attempt
to break out soon or starve where they are.”

“They’ll
try to reopen one of the roads and bring in supplies, before they abandon
Winchester altogether,” said Humilis, frowning thoughtfully over the
possibilities. “If and when they do break, they’ll break for Oxford first.
Well, if this stalemate has sent you here to me, one good thing has come out of
it. And what is this business that brought you to Shrewsbury?”

“My
lord,” began Nicholas, leaning forward very earnestly, “you remember how you
sent me here to the manor of Lai, three years ago, to take the word to Humphrey
Cruce and his daughter that you could not keep your compact to marry her? — that
you were entering the cloister at Hyde Mead?”

“It
is not a thing to forget,” agreed Humilis drily.

“My
lord, neither can I forget the girl! You never saw her but as a child five
years old, before you went to the Crusade. But I saw her a grown lady, nearly
nineteen. I did your message to her father and to her, and came away glad to
have it delivered and done. But now I cannot get her out of my mind. Such grace
she had, and bore the severance with such dignity and courtesy. My lord, if she
is still not wed or betrothed, I want to speak for her myself. But I could not
go without first asking your blessing and consent.”

“Son,”
said Humilis, glowing with astonished pleasure,”there’s nothing could delight
me more than to see her happy with you, since I had to fail her. The girl is
free to marry whom she will, and I could wish her no better man than you. And
if you succeed I shall be relieved of all my guilt towards her, for I shall
know she has made a better bargain than ever I should have been to her. Only consider,
boy, we who enter the cloister abjure all possessions, how then can we dare lay
claim to rights of possession in another creature of God? Go, and may you get
her, and my blessing on you both. But come back and tell me how you fare.”

“My
lord, with all my heart! How can I fail, if you send me to her?”

He
stooped to kiss the hand that held him warmly, and rose blithely from the stool
to take his leave. The silent figure in the shadows returned to his
consciousness belatedly; it was as if he had been alone with his lord all this
time, yet here stood the mute witness. Nicholas turned to him with impulsive
warmth.

“Brother,
I do thank you for your care of my lord. For this time, farewell. I shall
surely see you again on my return.”

It
was disconcerting to receive by way of reply only silence, and the courteous
inclination of the cowled head.

“Brother
Fidelis,” said Humilis gently, “is dumb. Only his life and works speak for him.
But I dare swear his goodwill goes with you on this quest, like mine.”

There
was silence in the cell when the last crisp, light echo had died away on the
day stairs. Brother Humilis lay still, thinking, it seemed, tranquil and
contented thoughts, for he was smiling.