Dead Man's Ransom (13 page)

The second possibility, thought Cadfael honestly, is that both cloth and pin are still here, somewhere within the enclave, but so well hidden that all our searching has not uncovered them.

And the third—he had been mulling it over in his mind all day, and repeatedly discarding it as a pointless aberration, but still it came back insistently, the one loophole. Yes, Hugh had put a guard on the gate from the moment the crime was known, but three people had been let out, all the same, the three who could not possibly have killed, since they had been in the abbot’s company and Hugh’s throughout. Einon ab Ithel and his two captains had ridden back to Owain Gwynedd. They had not taken any particle of guilt with them, yet they might unwittingly have taken evidence.

Three possibilities, and surely it might be worth examining even the third and most tenuous. He had lived with the other two for some days, and pursued them constantly, and all to no purpose. And for those countrymen of his penned in the castle, and for abbot and prior and brothers here, and for the dead man’s family, there would be no true peace of mind until the truth was known.

Before Compline Cadfael took his trouble, as he had done many times before, to Abbot Radulfus.

“Either the cloth is still here among us, Father, but so well hidden that all our searching has failed to find it, or else it has been taken out of our walls by someone who left in the short time between the hour of dinner and the discovery of the sheriff’s death, or by someone who left, openly and with sanction, after that discovery. From that time Hugh Beringar has had a watch kept on all who left the enclave. For those who may have passed through the gates before the death was known, I think they must be few indeed, for the time was short, and the porter did name three, all good folk of the Foregate on parish business, and all have been visited and are clearly blameless. That there may be others I do concede, but he has called no more to mind.”

“We know,” said the abbot thoughtfully, “of three who left that same afternoon, to return to Wales, being by absolute proof clear of all blame. Also of one, the man Anion, who fled after being questioned. It is known to you, as it is to me, that for most men Anion’s guilt is proven by his flight. It is not so to you?”

“No, Father, or at least not that mortal guilt. Something he surely knows, and fears, and perhaps has cause to fear. But not that. He has been in our infirmary for some weeks, his every possession is known to all those within—he has little enough, the list is soon ended, and if ever he had had in his hands such a cloth as I seek, it would have been noticed and questioned.” Radulfus nodded agreement. “You have not mentioned, though that also is missing, the gold pin from the lord Einon’s cloak.” That,” said Cadfael, understanding the allusion, “is possible. It would account for his flight. And he has been sought, and still is. But if he took the one thing, he did not bring the other. Unless he had in his hands such a cloth as I have shadowed for you, Father, then he is no murderer. And that little he had, many men here have seen and known. Nor, so far as ever we can discover, had this house ever such a weave within its store, to be pilfered and so misused.”

“Yet if this cloth came and went in that one day,” said Radulfus, “are you saying it went hence with the Welsh lords? We know they did no wrong. If they had cause to think anything in their baggage, on returning, had to do with this matter, would they not have sent word?”

“They would have no such cause, Father, they would not know it had any importance to us. Only after they were gone did we recover those few frail threads I have shown you. How should they know we were seeking such a thing? Nor have we had any word from them, nothing but the message from Owain Gwynedd to Hugh Beringar. If Einon ab Ithel valued and has missed his jewel, he has not stopped to think he may have lost it here.”

“And you think, asked the abbot, considering, “that it might be well to speak with Einon and his officers, and examine these things?”

“At your will only,” said Cadfael. “There is no knowing if it will lead to more knowledge than we have. Only, it may! And there are so many souls who need for their comfort to have this matter resolved. Even the guilty.”

“He most of all,” said Radulfus, and sat a while in silence. There in the parlour the light was only now beginning to fade. A cloudy day would have brought the dusk earlier. About this time, perhaps a little before, Hugh would have been waiting on the great dyke at Rhyd-y-Croesau by Oswestry for Owain Gwynedd. Unless, of course, Owain was like him in coming early to any meeting. Those two would understand each other without too many words. “Let us go to Compline,” said the abbot, stirring, “and pray for enlightenment. Tomorrow after Prime we will speak again.”

The Welsh of Powys had done very well out of their Lincoln venture, undertaken rather for plunder than out of any desire to support the earl of Chester, who was more often enemy than ally. Madog ap Meredith was quite willing to act in conjunction with Chester again, provided there was profit in it for Madog, and the news of Ranulf’s probes into the borders of Gwynedd and Shropshire alerted him to pleasurable possibilities. It was some years since the men of Powys had captured and partially burned the castle of Caus, after the death of William Corbett and in the absence of his brother and heir, and they had held on to this advanced outpost ever since, a convenient base for further incursions. With Hugh Beringar gone north, and half the Shrewsbury garrison with him, the time seemed ripe for action.

The first thing that happened was a lightning raid from Caus along the valley towards Minsterley, the burning of an isolated farmstead and the driving off of a few cattle. The raiders drew off as rapidly as they had advanced, when the men of Minsterley mustered against them, and vanished into Caus and through the hills into Wales with their booty. But it was indication enough that they might be expected back and in greater strength, since this first assay had passed off so easily and without loss. Alan Herbard sweated, spared a few men to reinforce Minsterley, and waited for worse.

News of this tentative probe reached the abbey and the town next morning. The deceptive calm that followed was too good to be true, but the men of the borders, accustomed to insecurity as the commonplace of life, stolidly picked up the pieces and kept their billhooks and pitchforks ready to hand.

“It would seem, however,” said Abbot Radulfus, pondering the situation without surprise or alarm, but with concern for a shire threatened upon two fronts, “that this conference in the north would be the better informed, on both parts, if they knew of this raid. There is a mutual interest. However short, lived it may prove,” he added drily, and smiled. A stranger to the Welsh, he had learned a great deal since his appointment in Shrewsbury. “Gwynedd is close neighbour to Chester, as Powys is not, and their interests are very different. Moreover, it seems the one is to be trusted to be both honourable and sensible. The other—no, I would not say either wise or stable by our measure. I do not want these western people of ours harried and plundered, Cadfael. I have been thinking of what we said yesterday. If you return once again to Wales, to find these lords who visited us, you will also be close to where Hugh Beringar confers with the prince.”

“Certainly,” said Cadfael, “for Einon ab Ithel is next in line to Owain Gwynedd’s penteulu, the captain of his own guard. They will be together.”

“Then if I send you, as my envoy, to Einon, it would be well if you should also go to the castle, and make known to this young deputy there that you intend this journey, and can carry such messages as he may wish to Hugh Beringar. You know, I think,” said Radulfus with his dark smile, “how to make such a contact discreetly. The young man is new to office.”

“I must, in any case, pass through the town,” said Cadfael mildly, “and clearly I ought to report my errand to the authorities at the castle, and have their leave to pass. It is a good opportunity, where men are few and needed.”

“True,” said Radulfus, thinking how acutely men might shortly be needed down the border. “Very well! Choose a horse to your liking. You have leave to deal as you think best. I want this death reconciled and purged, I want God’s peace on my infirmary and within my walls, and the debt paid. Go, do what you can.”

There was no difficulty at the castle. Herbard needed only to be told that an envoy from the abbot was bound into Oswestry and beyond, and he added an embassage of his own to his sheriff. Raw and uneasy though he might be, he was braced and steeled to cope with whatever might come, but it was an additional shell of armour to have informed his chief. He was frightened but resolute; Cadfael thought he shaped well, and might be a useful man to Hugh, once blooded. And that might be no long way off.

“Let the lord Beringar know,” said Herbard, “that I intend a close watch on the border by Caus. But I desire he should know the men of Powys are on the move. And if there are further raids, I will send word.”

“He shall know,” said Cadfael, and forthwith rode back a short spell through the town, down from the High Cross to the Welsh bridge, and so north, west for Oswestry.

It was two days later that the next thrust came. Madog ap Meredith had been pleased with his first probe, and brought more men into the field before he launched his attack in force. Down the Rea valley to Minsterley they swarmed, burned and looted, wheeled both ways round Minsterley, and flowed on towards Pontesbury.

In Shrewsbury castle Welsh ears, as well as English, stretched and quivered to the bustle and fever of rumours.

“They are out!” said Elis, tense and sleepless beside his cousin in the night. “Oh God, and Madog with this grudge to pay off! And she is there! Melicent is there at Godric’s Ford. Oh, Eliud, if he should take it into his head to take revenge!”

“You’re fretting for nothing,” Eliud insisted passionately. “They know what they’re doing here, they’re on the watch, they’ll not let any harm come to the nuns. Besides, Madog is not aiming there, but along the valley, where the pickings are best. And you saw yourself what the forest men can do. Why should he try that a second time? It wasn’t his own nose was put out of joint there, either, you told me who led that raid. What plunder is there at Godric’s Ford for such as Madog, compared with the fat farms in the Minsterley valley? No, surely she’s safe there.”

“Safe! How can you say it? Where is there any safety? They should never have let her go.” Elis ground angry fists in the rustling straw of their palliasse, and heaved himself round in the bed. “Oh, Eliud, if only I were out of here and free…”

“But you’re not,” said Eliud, with the exasperated sharpness of one racked by the same pain, “and neither am I. We’re bound, and nothing we can do about it. For God’s sake, do some justice to these English, they’re neither fools nor cravens, they’ll hold their city and their ground, and they’ll take care of their women, without having to call on you or me. What right have you to doubt them? And you to talk so, who went raiding there yourself!” Elis subsided with a defeated sigh and a drear smile. “And got my come, uppance for it! Why did I ever go with Cadwaladr? God knows how often and how bitterly I’ve repented it since.”

“You would not be told,” said Eliud sadly, ashamed at having salted the wound. “But she will be safe, you’ll see, no harm will come to her, no harm will come to the nuns. Trust these English to look after their own. You must! There’s nothing else we can do.”

“If I were free,” Elis agonised helplessly, “I’d fetch her away from there, take her somewhere out of all danger…”

“She would not go with you,” Eliud reminded him bleakly. “You, of all people! Oh, God, how did we ever get into this quagmire, and how are we ever to get out of it?”

“If I could reach her, I could persuade her. In the end she would listen. She’ll have remembered me better by now, she’ll know she wrongs me. She’d go with me. If only I could reach her…”

“But you’re pledged, as I am,” said Eliud flatly. “We’ve given our word, and it was freely accepted. Neither you nor I can stir a foot out of the gates without being dishonoured.”

“No,” agreed Elis miserably, and fell silent and still, staring into the darkness of the shallow vault over them.

Chapter Ten

BROTHER CADFAEL ARRIVED IN OSWESTRY BY EVENING, to find town and castle alert and busy, but Hugh Beringar already departed. He had moved east after his meeting with Owain Gwynedd, they told him, to Whittington and Ellesmere, to see his whole northern border stiffened and call up fresh levies as far away as Whitchurch. While Owain had moved north on the border to meet the constable of Chirk and see that corner of the confederacy secure and well-manned. There had been some slight brushes with probing parties from Cheshire, but so tentative that it was plain Ranulf was feeling his way with caution, testing to see how well organised the opposition might prove to be. So far he had drawn off at the first encounter. He had made great gains at Lincoln and had no intention of endangering them now, but a very human desire to add to them if he found his opponents unprepared.

“Which he will not,” said the cheerful sergeant who received Cadfael into the castle and saw his horse stabled and the rider well entertained. “The earl is no madman to shove his fist into a hornets’ nest. Leave him one weak place he can gnaw wider and he’d be in, but we’re leaving him none. He thought he might do well, knowing Prestcote was gone. He thought our lad would be green and easy. He’s learning different! And if these Welsh of Powys have an ear pricked this way, they should also take the omens. But who’s to reason what the Welsh will do? This Owain, now, he’s a man on his own. Straw-gold like a Saxon, and big! What’s such a one doing in Wales?”

“He came here?” asked Cadfael, feeling his Cambrian blood stir in welcome.

“Last night, to sup with Beringar, and rode for Chirk at dawn. Welsh and English will man that fortress instead of fighting over it. There’s a marvel!”

Cadfael pondered his errands and considered time. “Where would Hugh Beringar be this night, do you suppose?”

“At Ellesmere, most like. And tomorrow at Whitchurch. The next day before we should look for him back here. He means to meet again with Owain, and make his way down the border after, if all goes well here.”

“And if Owain lies at Chirk tonight, where will he be bound tomorrow?”

“He has his camp still at Tregeiriog, with his friend Tudur ap Rhys. It’s there he’s called whatever new levies come in to his border service.”

So he must keep touch there always, in order to deploy his forces wherever they might be needed. And if he returned there the next night, so would Einon ab Ithel.

“I’ll sleep the night here,” said Cadfael, “and tomorrow I’ll also make for Tregeiriog. I know the maenol and its lord. I’ll wait for Owain there. And do you let Hugh Beringar know that the Welsh of Powys are in the field again, as I’ve told you. Small harm yet, and should there be worse, Herbard will send word here. But if this border holds fast, and bloodies Chester’s nose wherever he ventures it, Madog ap Meredith will also learn sense.”

This extreme border castle of Oswestry, with its town, was the king’s, but the manor of Maesbury, of which it had become the head, was Hugh’s own native place, and there was no man here who did not hold with him and trust him. Cadfael felt the solid security of Hugh’s name about him, and a garrison doubly loyal, to Stephen and to Hugh. It was a good feeling, all the more now that Owain Gwynedd spread the benign shadow of his hand over a border that belonged by location to Powys. Cadfael slept well after hearing Compline in the castle chapel, rose early, took food and drink, and crossed the great dyke into Wales.

He had all but ten miles to go to Tregeiriog, winding all the way through the enclosing hills, always with wooded slopes one side or the other or both, and in open glimpses the bald grass summits leaning to view, and a sky veiled and still and mild overhead. Not mountain country, not the steel-blue rocks of the north-west, but hill-country always, with limited vistas, leaning hangers of woodland, closed valleys that opened only at the last moment to permit another curtained view. Before he drew too close to Tregeiriog the expected pickets heaved out of the low brush, to challenge, recognise and admit him. His Welsh tongue was the first safe-conduct, and stood him in good stead.

All the colours had changed since last he rode down the steep hillside into Tregeiriog. Round the brown, timbered warmth of maenol and village beside the river, the trees had begun to soften their skeletal blackness with a delicate pale-green froth of buds, and on the lofty, rounded summits beyond the snow was gone, and the bleached pallor of last year’s grass showed the same elusive tint of new life. Through the browned and rotting bracken the first fronds uncurled. Here it was already Spring.

At the gate of Tudur’s maenol they knew him, and came readily to lead him in and take charge of his horse. Not Tudur himself, but his steward, came to welcome the guest and do the honours of the house. Tudur was with the prince, doubtless at this hour on his way back from Chirk. In the cleft of the tributary brook behind the maenol the turfed camp, fires of his border levies gave off blue wisps of smoke on the still air. By evening the hall would again be Owain’s court, and all his chief captains in this border patrol mustered about his table.

Cadfael was shown to a small chamber within the house, and offered the ceremonial water to wash off the dust of travel from his feet. This time it was a maid-servant who waited upon him, but when he emerged into the court it was to see Cristina advancing upon him in a flurry of blown skirts and flying hair from the kitchens.

“Brother Cadfael… it is you! They told me,” she said, halting before him breathless and intent, “there was a brother come from Shrewsbury, I hoped it might be you. You know them, you can tell me the truth… about Elis and Eliud…”

“What have they already told you?” asked Cadfael. “Come within, where we can be quiet, and what I can tell you, that I will, for I know you must have been in bitter anxiety.” But for all that, he thought ruefully, as she turned willingly and led the way into the hall, if he made that good, and told all he knew, it would be little to her comfort. Her betrothed, for whom she was contending so fiercely with so powerful a rival, was not only separated from her until proven innocent of murder, but disastrously in love with another girl as he had never been with her. What can you say to such a misused lady? Yet it would be infamous to lie to Cristina, just as surely as it would be cruel to bludgeon her with the blunt truth. Somewhere between the two he must pick his way.

She drew him with her into a corner of the hall, remote and shadowed at this hour when most of the men were out about their work, and there they sat down together against smoky tapestries, her black hair brushing his shoulder as she poured out what she knew and begged for what she needed to know.

“The English lord died, that I know, before ever Einon ab Ithel was ready to leave, and they are saying it was no simple death from his wounds, and all those who are not proven blameless must stay there as prisoners and suspect murderers, until the guilt is proven on some one man—English or Welsh, lay or brother, who knows? And here we must wait also. But what is being done to set them free? How are you to find the guilty one? Is all this true? I know Einon came back and spoke with Owain Gwynedd, and I know the prince will not receive his men back until they are cleared of all blame. He says he sent back a dead man, and a dead man cannot buy back one living. And moreover, that your dead man’s ransom must be a life—the life of his murderer. Do you believe any man of ours owes that debt?”

“I dare not say there is any man who might not kill, given some monstrous, driving need,” said Cadfael honestly.

“Or any woman, either,” she said with a fierce, helpless sigh. “But you have not fixed on any one man for this deed? No finger has been pointed? Not yet?” No, of course she did not know. Einon had left before ever Melicent cried out both her love and her hatred, accusing Elis. No further news had yet reached these parts. Even if Hugh had now spoken of this matter with the prince, no such word had yet found its way back here to Tregeiriog. But surely it would, when Owain returned. In the end she would hear how her betrothed had fallen headlong in love with another woman, and been accused by her of her father’s murder, murder for love that put an end to love. And where did that leave Cristina? Forgotten, eclipsed, but still in tenuous possession of a bridegroom who did not want her, and could not have the bride he did want! Such a tangled coil enmeshing all these four hapless children!

“Fingers have been pointed, more than one way,” said Cadfael, “but there is no proof against one man more than another. No one is yet in danger of his life, and all are in health and well enough treated, even if they must be confined. There is no help for it but to wait and believe in justice.”

“Believing in justice is not always so easy,” she said tartly. “You say they are well? And they are together, Elis and Eliud?”

“They are. They have that comfort. And within the castle wards they have their liberty. They have given their word not to try to escape, and it has been accepted. They are well enough, you may believe that.”

“But you can give me no hope, set me no period, when he will come home?” She sat confronting Cadfael with great, steady eyes, and in her lap her fingers were knotted so tightly that the knuckles shone white as naked bone. “Even if he does come home, living and justified,” she said.

“That I can tell no more than you,” Cadfael owned wryly. “But I will do what I can to shorten the time. This waiting is hard upon you, I know it.” But how much harder would the return be, if ever Elis came back vindicated, only to pursue his suit for Melicent Prestcote, and worm his way out of his Welsh betrothal. It might even be better if she had warning now, before the blow fell. Cadfael was pondering what he could best do for her, and with only half an ear tuned to what she was saying.

“At least I have purged my own soul,” she said, as much to herself as to him. “I have always known how well he loves me, if only he did not love his cousin as well or better. Fosterlings are like that—you are Welsh, you know it. But if he could not bring himself to undo what was done so ill, I have done it for him now. I tired of silence. Why should we bleed without a cry? I have done what had to be done, I’ve spoken with my father and with his. In the end I shall have my way.” She rose, giving him a pale but resolute smile. “We shall be able to speak again, brother, before you leave us. I must go and see how things fare in the kitchen, they’ll be home with the evening.” He gave her an abstracted farewell, and watched her cross the hall with her free, boy’s stride and straight, proud carriage. Not until she had reached the door did he realise the meaning of what she had said. “Cristina!” he called in startled enlightenment; but the door had closed and she was gone.

There was no error, he had heard aright. She knew how well he loved her, if only he did not love his cousin as well or better, in the way of fosterlings! Yes, all that he had known before, he had seen it manifested in their warring exchanges, and misread it utterly. How a man can be deceived, where every word, every aspect, confirms him in his blindness! Not a single lie spoken or intended, yet the sum total a lie.

She had spoken with her father—and with his!

Cadfael heard in his mind’s ear Elis ap Cynan’s blithe voice accounting for himself when first he came to Shrewsbury. Owain Gwynedd was his overlord, and had overseen him in the fosterage where he had placed him when his father died…

“… with my uncle Griffith ap Meilyr, where I grew up with my cousin Eliud as brothers…” Two young men, close as twins, far too close to make room for the bride destined for one of them. Yes, and she fighting hard for what she claimed as her rights, and knowing there was love deep enough and wild enough to match her love, if only… If only a mistaken bond made in infancy could be honourably dissolved. If only those two could be severed, that dual creature staring into a mirror, the left, handed image and the right, handed, and which of them the reality? How is a stranger to tell?

But now he knew. She had not used the word loosely, of the kinsman who had reared them both. No, she meant just what she had said. An uncle may also be a foster-father, but only a natural father is a father.

They came, as before, with the dusk. Cadfael was still in a daze when he heard them come, and stirred himself to go out and witness the torchlit bustle in the court, the glimmer on the coats of the horses, the jingle of harness, bit and spur, the cheerful and purposeful hum of entwining voices, the hissing and crooning of the grooms, the trampling of hooves and the very faint mist of warm breath in the chilling but frostless air. A grand, vigorous pattern of lights and shadows, and the open door of the hall glowing warmly for welcome.

Tudur ap Rhys was the first down from the saddle, and himself strode to hold his prince’s stirrup. Owain Gwynedd’s fair hair gleamed uncovered in the ruddy light of the torches as he sprang down, a head taller than his host. Man after man they came, chieftain after chieftain, the princelings of Gwynedd’s nearer commoes, the neighbours of England. Cadfael stood to survey each one as he dismounted, and lingered until all were on foot, and their followers dispersed into the camps beyond the maenol. But he did not find among them Einon ab Ithel, whom he sought.

“Einon?” said Tudur, questioned. “He’s following, though he may come late to table. He had a visit to pay in Llansantffraid, he has a daughter married there, and his first grandson is come new into the world. Before the evening’s out he’ll be with us. You’re heartily welcome to my roof again, brother, all the more if you bring news to please the prince’s ear. It was an ill thing that happened there with you, he feels it as a sad stain on a clean acquaintance.”

“I’m rather seeking than bringing enlightenment,” Cadfael confessed. “But I trust one man’s ill deed cannot mar these meetings between your prince and our sheriff. Owain Gwynedd’s goodwill is gold to us in Shropshire, all the more since Madog ap Meredith is showing his teeth again.”

“Do you tell me so? Owain will want to hear of it, but after supper will be the fitting time. I’ll make you a place at the high table.” Since he had in any case to wait for the arrival of Einon, Cadfael sat back to study and enjoy the gathering in Tudur’s hall over supper, the warmth of the central fire, the torches, the wine, and the harping. A man of Tudur’s status was privileged to possess a harp and maintain his own harper, in addition to his duty to be a generous patron to travelling minstrels. And with the prince here to praise and be praised, they had a rivalry of singers that lasted throughout the meal. There was still a deal of coming and going in the courtyard, late-comers riding in, officers from the camps patrolling their bounds and changing pickets, and the womenfolk fetching and carrying, and loitering to talk to the archers and men-at-arms. For the time being this was the court of Gwynedd, where petitioners, bringers of gifts, young men seeking office and favour, all must come.