Holy Thief (33 page)

He
approached her softly, and spoke as softly, and for a moment was not sure she
would hear him, for she was tuned to something more distant.

“He
grazed you. Better let me see.”

“A
scratch,” she said indifferently; but she let him draw back her loose sleeve
almost to the shoulder, where it was slit for a hand’s-length. The skin was
barely broken, there was only a white hair-line, beaded in two or three places
with a tiny jewel of blood. “Nothing! It will not fester.”

“You
took a heavy fall. I never thought he would drive at you so. You spoke too
soon, I meant to spare you the need.”

“I
thought he could neither love nor hate,” said Daalny with detached interest. “I
never saw him moved till now. Did he get clean away?”

That
he could not answer, he had not stopped to see.

“I
am very well,” she said firmly, “and all is well with me. You go back and see
what is still to do. Ask them... Ask them to leave me here a while alone. I
need this place. I need this certainty.”

“You
shall have it,” said Cadfael, and left her, for she was in command of herself
and all her thoughts, words and acts as perhaps she had never been before. He
turned back at the door to look at her one last time, and she sat regal and
erect on the steps of the altar, her hands easy on the stone on either side,
half-open, as though they held the insignia of sovereignty. There was the
faintest curve of a smile on her lips, private and solitary, and yet he had the
illusion, if it was an illusion?, that she was not alone.

They
had unbuckled the saddlebag from its harness, and carried it into the gatehouse
as the nearest place where a solid table offered a hospitable surface on which
to spill the contents. There were six of them gathered close about the board
when Cadfael joined them to make a seventh: Abbot Radulfus, Prior Robert,
Sub-Prior Herluin, Robert Bossu, Rémy of Pertuis and Hugh Beringar, freshly
dismounted within the gate, and very briefly appraised of all that had been
happening here. It was Hugh, at the earl’s silent invitation, who brought forth
from the bag the modest personal equipment of a valued body-servant, folded
clothing, razor, brushes, a good belt, a pair of worn but wellmade gloves. At
the bottom, but occupying half the space, Hugh grasped by its draw-string neck
and hauled forth upon the table a plump, soft leather bag that gave forth an
unmistakable chinking of coins settling, as it sagged together and squatted
still and enigmatic before their eyes.

One
thing at least was no longer secret. Three of them here recognized it at once.
At the loud gasp that escaped Herluin even the lower orders, gathered avidly
about the doorway, Nicol, and the squires, and the humble layman from Ramsey,
drew eager anticipatory breath, and crowded closer.

“Good
God!” said Herluin in a marvelling whisper. “This I know! This was in the
coffer for Ramsey, on the altar of the Lady Chapel when the flood came. But how
is it possible? It was put on the wagon with the load of timber. We found the
coffer at Ullesthorpe, ravaged and empty, everything stolen...”

Hugh
pulled open the strings of the bag, turned up the soft leather upon the table,
and slid out a slithering flood of silver pence, and among the whisper and the
glitter, a little bulkier and last to emerge, certain shining ornaments: a gold
neckchain, twin bracelets, a torque of gold set with roughly cut gemstones, and
two rings, one a man’s massive seal, the other a broad gold band, deeply
engraved. Last came a large and intricate ring brooch, the fastening of a
cloak, in reddish gold, fine Saxon work.

They
stood and gazed, and were slow to believe or understand.

These
I know, also,” said Radulfus slowly. The brooch I have seen once in the cloak
of the lady Donata. The plain ring she wore always.”

“She
gave them to Ramsey before her death,” said Herluin, low-voiced, marvelling at
what seemed almost a miracle. “All these were in the casket I put in Nicol’s
charge when he left with the wagon for Ramsey. The casket we found, broken open
and discarded...”

“I
well remember,” said Nicol’s voice hoarsely from the doorway. “I carried the
key safe enough, but they had prized up the lid, taken the treasure, and cast
the box away... So we thought!”

So
they had all thought. All this goodwill, all these gifts to a ravaged
monastery, had been in their casket on the altar of the Lady Chapel on the
night of the flood, high enough to be clear even of the highest flood water.
Safe from the river, but not from thieves coming on the pretext of helping to
preserve the holy things, while taking advantage of the opportunity to help
themselves to what lay temptingly to hand. The key had been in the lock, no
need that time to break it open. Easy enough to lift out the leather bag,
replace it with whatever offered, rags and stones, to represent the weight that
had been removed. Relock the box, and leave it to be transferred to the wagon
in Nicol’s care. And then, thought Cadfael, his eyes upon Donata’s bright last
charity, hide the booty somewhere safe, somewhere apart, until the time comes
for leaving Shrewsbury. Somewhere apart, where even if discovered it could not
attach to a name; but where it was unlikely to be discovered. Bénezet had
helped to move the horses from their low-lying stable within the walls. It
would take no time at all to thrust his prize to the very bottom of the full
cornbin, newly supplied for the few days of the horses’ stay. Small fear of
their having to remain long enough to expose the alien thing beneath the corn.
Safer there than in the common guesthall, where casual overnight travellers
came and went, and there was little if any privacy. Even thieves can be robbed,
and curious neighbours can find out things that were hidden.

“They
never left Shrewsbury!” said Hugh, staring down at the pile of silver and gold.
“Father Herluin, it seems God and the saints have restored you your own.”

“Under
whom,” said Robert Bossu drily, “thanks are due also to this girl of yours,
Rémy. She has proved her point concerning theft. Are we not forgetting her? I
hope he did her no injury. Where is she now?”

“She
is in the church,” said Cadfael, “and asks that you will allow her a little
time in private before departing. She has nothng worse than a graze, as
concerning the body, she can go and she can ride, but a while of quietness is
what her spirit needs.”

“We
will wait her convenience,” said the earl. “I would like, I confess, Hugh, to
see the end of this. If your fellows bring back the thief alive, so much the
better, for he has robbed me, in passing, of a good horse. He has much to
answer for.”

“More,”
said Cadfael sombrely, “than mere theft.”

He
had moved aside the pile of clothes which had covered Bénezet’s plunder from
sight, and thrust a hand into the depths of the saddlebag, and there was some
folded garment still left undisturbed within, put away beneath all. He held it
unfolded in his hands, a linen shirt, clean from fresh folds after laundering,
and was gazing down at the cuff of one sleeve, turning it about in his figers
with fixed attention. A very self-sufficient man, Bénezet, very orderly in his
management of his affairs, needing no woman to wash and furbish for him. But
not rich enough to be able to discard a shirt, even if there had been much
opportunity, shut in here within monastic walls at his master’s pleasure, while
Rémy pursued his quest for patronage. He had washed it and folded it deep under
everything in his packing, to await its next airing miles distant from here and
weeks later. But there are stains not easily washed out. Cadfael extended the
cuff beneath Hugh’s wondering gaze, and Earl Robert leaned to take up the
second sleeve. For about a hand’s breadth from the hem they were both thinly
spattered with small round stains, no more than a faint but clear pink outline,
even fainter pink within. But Cadfael had seen the like before, often enough to
know it. So, he thought, had Robert Bossu.

This
is blood,” said the earl.

“It
is Aldhelm’s blood,” said Cadfael. “It rained that night. Bénezet would be
cloaked, thick black wool swallows blood, and I am sure he was careful. But...”

But
a jagged stone, raised in both hands and smashed down upon the head of a
senseless man, however the act is managed, however discreetly accomplished, and
with no great haste, no one to interfere, must yet threaten at least the hands
and wrists of the murderer with indelible traces. The worst was trapped under
the stone, and bled into the grass after, but this faint sprinkling, this
fringing shower, had marked flesh and linen. And from linen, unless it can be
steeped at once, it is difficult to erase the small shapes that betray.

“I
remember,” said Rémy, dazed and half-incredulous, clean forgetful of himself,
“I was your guest that night, Father Abbot, and he was free to his own devices.
He said he was bound for the town.”

“It
was he who told the girl that Aldhelm was expected,” said Cadfael, “and she who
warned Tutilo to be safely out of sight. So Bénezet knew of the need, if need
there was for him. But how could he be sure? It was enough that Aldhelm,
required to recollect clearly, might recollect all too much of what he had seen
in innocence. And therefore in innocence he is dead. And Bénezet was his
murderer. And Bénezet will never know, and neither shall we, if he murdered for
nothing.”

Alan
Herbard, Hugh’s deputy in office, rode in at the gate an hour before noon.

The
party was just reassembling for departure, after Earl Robert’s generous delay
for Daalny’s sake, and Cadfael, self-appointed custodian of her interests, for
good reason, had just been requested, very courteously, to go and call her to
join the group, if by this time she felt sufficiently recovered. There had been
time, also, for all the rest of them to assimilate, as best they could, the flood
of revelations and shocks that bade fair to diminish their numbers and change
several lives. Sub-Prior Herluin had lost a novice and his revenge for
sorely-felt abuses, but recovered the treasures he thought lost for ever, and
his mood, in spite of sins and deaths and violence, had brightened since his
glum morning face almost into benevolence. Rémy had lost a manservant, but
secured his future with a very influential patron: a manservant is easily
replaced, but entry to the household of one of the foremost earls of the land
is a prize for life. Rémy was not disposed to complain. He had not even lost
the horse with the man, the stolen beast belonged to Robert Bossu’s squire.
Bénezet’s sedate and aging roan, relieved of his saddlebags, waited now imperturbably
for another rider. Nicol could ride, and leave his fellow to drive the wheeled
cart. Everything was settling into the ordinary routines of life, however
deflected from their course hitherto.

And
suddenly there was Alan Herbard in the gateway, just dismounting, curious and a
little awed at approaching Hugh in this illustrious company.

“We
have the man, sir. I rode ahead to tell you. They are bringing him after. Where
would you have him taken? There was no time to hear why he ran, and what he was
accused of.”

“He
is charged with murder,” said Hugh. “Get him safe into the castle under lock
and key, and I’ll follow as soon as I may. You were quick. He cannot have got
far. What happened?”

“He
took us a mile or more into the Long Forest, and we were gaining on him, and he
turned off the open ride to try and lose us among thick woodland. I think they
started a hind, and the horse baulked, for we heard him curse, and then the
horse screamed and reared. I think he used the dagger...”

The
squire had drawn close to hear what had befallen his mount. Indignantly he
said: “Conradin would never endure that.”

“They
were well ahead, we could only judge by the sounds. But I think he reared, and
swept the fellow off against a low branch, for he was lying half-stunned under
a tree when we picked him up. He goes lame on one leg, but it’s not broken. He
was dazed, he gave us no trouble.”

“He
may yet,” said Hugh warningly.

“Will’s
no prentice, he’ll keep safe hold of him. But the horse,” said Alan, somewhat
apologetic on this point, “we haven’t caught. He’d bolted before we ever
reached the place, and for all the searching we dared do with the man to guard,
we couldn’t find him close, nor even hear anything ahead of us. Riderless,
he’ll be well away before he’ll get over his fright and come to a stay.”

“And
my gear gone with him,” said the unlucky owner with a grimace, but laughed the
next moment. “My lord, you’ll owe me new clothes if he’s gone beyond recall.”

“We’ll
make a proper search tomorrow,” promised Alan. “We’ll find him for you. But
first I’ll go and see this murderer safely jailed.”

He
made his reverence to the abbot and the earl, and remounted at the gate, and
was gone. They were left looking at one another like people at the hour of
awaking, uncertain for a moment whether what they contemplate is reality or
dream.

“It
is well finished,” said Robert Bossu. “If this is the end!” And he turned upon
the abbot his grave, considerate glance. “It seems we have lived this farewell
twice, Father, but this time it is truth, we must go. I trust we may meet at
some happier occasion, but now you will be glad to have us out of your sight
and out of your thoughts, with all the troubles we have brought you between us.
Your household will be more peaceful without us.” And to Cadfael he said,
turning to take his horse’s bridle: “Will you ask the lady if she feels able to
join us? It’s high time we took the road.”