Holy Thief (11 page)

“Nicol!”
pronounced Herluin, suppressing his first exasperation, at this or any
disruption of his plans. “Man, what are you doing here? Why are you not back in
Ramsey? I had thought I could have complete trust in you to get your charge
safely home. What has happened? Where have you left the wagon? And your
fellows, where are they?”

Nicol
drew deep breath, and told him. “Father, we were set upon in woodland, south of
Leicester. Five of us, and a dozen of them, with cudgels and daggers, and two
archers among them. Horses and wagon were what they wanted, and what they took,
for all we could do to stop them. They were on the run, and in haste, or we
should all be dead men. They had one at least of their number wounded, and they
needed to move fast. They battered us into the bushes, and made off into the
forest with the cart and the team and the load, and left us to limp away on
foot wherever we would. And that’s the whole tale,” he said, and shut his mouth
with a snap, confronting Herluin with the stony stare of an elder provoked and
ready to do battle.

The
abbey’s wagon gone, a team of horses gone, Longner’s cartload of timber gone,
worst of all, Ramsey’s little chest of treasure for the rebuilding, lost to a
company of outlaws along the road! Prior Robert drew a hissing breath,
Sub-Prior Herluin uttered a howl of bitter deprivation, and began to babble
indignation into Nicol’s set face.

“Could
you do no better than that? All my work gone to waste! I thought I could rely
on you, that Ramsey could rely on you...”

Hugh
laid a restraining hand on the sub-prior’s heaving shoulder, and rode somewhat
unceremoniously over his lament. “Was any man of yours badly hurt?”

“None
past making his way afoot. As I’ve made mine,” said Nicol sturdily, “all these
miles, to bring word as soon as I might.”

“And
well done,” said Hugh. “God be thanked there was no killing. And where have
they headed, since they let you make for here alone?”

“Roger
and the young mason are gone on together for Ramsey. And the master carpenter
and the other lad turned back for Shrewsbury. They’ll be there by this, if they
had no more trouble along the way.”

“And
where was this ambush? South of Leicester, you said? Could you lead us there?
But no,” said Hugh decisively, looking the man over. An elder, well past fifty,
and battered and tired from a dogged and laborious journey on foot. “No, you
need your rest. Name me some village close by, and we’ll find the traces. Here
are we, and ready for the road. As well for Leicester as for Shrewsbury.”

“It
was in the forest, not far from Ullesthorpe,” said Nicol. “But they’ll be long
gone. I told you, they needed the cart and the horses, for they were running
from old pastures gone sour on them, and in the devil’s own hurry.”

“If
they needed the wagon and the team so sorely,” said Hugh, “one thing’s certain,
they’d want no great load of timber to slow them down. As soon as they were
well clear of you, they’d surely get rid of that dead weight, they’d upend the
cart and tip the load. If your little treasury was well buried among the coppice-wood,
Father Herluin, we may recover it yet.” And if something else really was
slipped aboard at the last moment, he thought, who knows but we may recover
that, too!

Herluin
had brightened and gathered his dignity about him wonderfully, at the very thought
of regaining what had gone astray. So had Nicol perceptibly brightened, though
rather with the hope of getting his revenge on the devils who had tumbled him
from the wagon, and threatened his companions with steel and arrows.

“You
mean to go back there after them?” he questioned, glittering. Then, my lord,
gladly I’ll come back with you. I’ll know the place again, and take you there
straight. Father Herluin came with three horses from Shrewsbury. Let his man
make his way back there, and let me have the third horse and bring you the
quickest way to Ullesthorpe. Give me a moment to wet my throat and take a bite,
and I’m ready!”

“You’ll
fall by the wayside,” said Hugh, laughing at a vehemence he could well
understand.

“Not
I, my lord! Let me but get my hands on one of that grisly crew, and you’ll put
me in better fettle than all the rest in the world. I would not be left out!
This was my charge, and I have a score to settle. I kept the key safe, Father
Herluin, but never had time to toss the coffer into the bushes, before I was
flung there myself, winded among the brambles, and scratches enough to show for
it. You would not leave me behind now?”

“Not
for the world!” said Hugh heartily. “I can do with a man of spirit about me.
Go, quickly then, get bread and ale. We’ll leave the Ramsey lad and have you
along for guide.”

The
reeve of Ullesthorpe was a canny forty-five year old, wiry and spry, and adroit
at defending not only himself and his position, but the interests of his
village. Confronted with a party weighted in favour of the clerical, he
nevertheless took a thoughtful look at Hugh Beringar, and addressed himself
rather to the secular justice.

“True
enough, my lord! We found the place some days past. We’d got word of these
outlaws passing through the woods, though they never came near the villages,
and then this master-carpenter and his fellow came back to us and told us what
had befallen them, and we did what we could for them to set them on their way
back to Shrewsbury. I reasoned like you, my lord, that they’d rid themselves of
the load, it would only slow them down. I’ll take you to the place. It’s a
couple of miles into the forest.”

He
added nothing more until he had brought them deep into thick woodland, threaded
by a single open ride, where deep wheel-ruts still showed here and there in the
moist ground, even after so many days. The marauders had simply backed the
wagon into a relatively open grove, and tipped the stack of wood headlong,
raking out the last slim cordwood and dragging the cart away from under them.
It did not surprise Hugh to see that the stack had been scattered abroad from
the original untidy pile dumped thus, and most of the seasoned timber removed,
leaving the flattened bushes plain to be seen. Thrifty villagers had sorted out
the best for their own uses, present or future. Give them time, and the rest of
the coppice-wood would also find a good home. The reeve, attendant at Hugh’s
elbow, eyed him sidelong, and said insinuatingly: “You’ll not think it ill of
good husbandmen to take what God sends and be grateful for it?”

Herluin
remarked, but with controlled resignation: “This was the property of Ramsey
Abbey, nevertheless.”

“Why,
Father, there was but a few of us, those who talked with the lads from
Shrewsbury, ever knew that. The first here were from an assart only cut from
the woods a few years back, it was a godsend indeed to them. Why leave it to go
to waste? They never saw the wagon or the men that brought it here. And the
earl gives us the right to take fallen wood, and this was long felled.”

“As
well mending a roof as lying here,” said Hugh, shrugging. “Small blame to
them.” The heap of logs, probed and hauled apart days since, had spread over
the woodland ride and into the tangle of grass and undergrowth among the trees.
They walked the circuit of it, sifting among the remains, and Nicol, who had
strayed a little further afield, suddenly uttered a shout, and plunging among
the bushes, caught up and brandished before their eyes the small coffer which
had held Herluin’s treasury. Broken apart by force, the lid splintered, the box
shed a handful of stones and a drift of dead leaves as he turned it upside down
and shook it ruefully.

“You
see? You see? They never got the key from me, they never would have got it, but
that was no hindrance. A dagger prizing under the lid, close by the lock... And
all that good alms and good will gone to rogues and vagabonds!”

“I
expected no better,” said Herluin bitterly, and took the broken box in his
hands to stare at the damage. “Well, we have survived even worse, and shall
survive this loss also. There were times when I feared our house was lost for
ever. This is but a stumble on the way, we shall make good what we have vowed,
in spite of all.”

Small
chance, however, reflected Hugh, of recovering these particular gifts. All
Shrewsbury’s giving, whether from the heart or the conscience, all Donata’s
surrendered vanities, relinquished without regret, all gone with the fugitive
ruffians, how far distant already there was no guessing.

“So
this is all,” said Prior Robert sadly.

“My
lord...” The reeve edged closer to Hugh’s shoulder and leaned confidingly to
his ear. “My lord, there was something else found among the logs. Well hidden
underneath it was, or either the rogues would have found it when they tipped
the load, or else the first who came to carry off timber would have seen it.
But it so chanced it was covered deep, and came to light only when I was here
to see. I knew when we unwrapped it, it was not for us to meddle with.”

He
had all their attention now, every eye was wide and bright upon him, Herluin
and Robert irresistibly moved to hoping against hope, but very wary of
disappointment, Nicol interested but bewildered, for nothing had been said to
him of the loss of Saint Winifred’s reliquary, or the possibility that he might
have had it aboard his wagon, and had been robbed of it with all the rest.
Tutilo hovered in the background, keeping himself modestly apart while his
betters conferred. He had even suppressed, as he could do at will, the
brightness of his amber eyes.

“And
what was this thing you found?” asked Hugh cautiously.

“A
coffin, my lord, by its shape. Not very large, if coffin it really is; whoever
lies in it was fine-boned and slender. Ornamented in silver, very chastely. I
knew it was precious enough to be perilous. I took it in charge for safety.”

“And
what,” pursued Prior Robert, beginning to glow with the promise of a triumph,
“did you do with this coffin?”

“I
had it taken to my lord, since it was found in his territory. I was risking no
man of my village or those round about being charged with stealing a thing of
value. Earl Robert was and is in residence in his manor of Huncote,” said the
reeve, “a few miles nearer Leicester. We carried it to him there, and told him
how we found it, and there in his hall it is yet. You may find it safe enough
in his care.”

“Praise
God, who has shown us marvellous mercies!” breathed Prior Robert in rapture. “I
do believe we have found the saint we mourned as lost.”

Hugh
was visited by a momentary vision of Brother Cadfael’s face, if he could have
been present to appreciate the irony. Yet both virgin saint and unrepentant
sinner must fall within the range of humanity. Maybe, after all, Cadfael had
been right to speak so simply of ‘poor Columbanus’. If only, thought Hugh,
between amusement and anxiety, if only the lady has been gracious enough and
considerate enough to keep the lid firmly on that reliquary of hers, we may yet
come out of this without scandal. In any case, there was no escaping the next
move.

“Very
well so!” said Hugh philosophically. “Then we’ll go to Huncote, and have speech
with the earl.”

Huncote
was a trim and compact village. There was a thriving mill, and the fields of
the demesne were wide and green, the ploughland well tended. It lay clear of
the edge of the forest, closely grouped round the manor and its walled
courtyard. The house was not large, but built of stone, with a squat tower as
solid as a castle keep. Within the pale the strangers entering were observed
immediately, and approached with an alertness and efficiency that probably
stemmed from the fact that the earl himself was in residence. Grooms came at
once, and briskly, to take the bridles, and a spruce page came bounding down
the steps from the hall door to greet the newcomers and discover their business
here, but he was waved away by an older steward who had emerged from the
stables. The apparition of three Benedictines, two of them obviously venerable,
and attended by two lay guests, one a servitor, the other with an authority
equal to the monastic, but clearly secular, produced a welcome at once
courteous and cool. Here every grace of hospitality would be offered to all who
came, only warmth waited on further exchanges.

In
a country still torn between two rivals for sovereignty, and plagued by
numerous uncommitted lords more interested in carving out kingdoms of their
own, wise men observed their hospitable duties and opened their houses to all,
but waited to examine credentials before opening their minds.

“My
lord, reverend sirs,” said the steward, “you are very welcome. I am the steward
of my lord Robert Beaumont’s manor of Huncote. How may I serve the Benedictine
Order and those who ride in their company? Have you business here within?”

“If
Earl Robert is within, and will receive us,” said Hugh, “we have indeed
business. We come in the matter of something lost from the abbey of Shrewsbury,
and found, as we have learned, here within the earl’s woodlands. A little
matter of a saint’s reliquary. Your lord may even find it diverting, as well as
enlightening, for he must have been wondering what had been laid on his
doorstone.”

“I
am the prior of Shrewsbury,” said Robert with ceremonious dignity, but was only
briefly regarded. The steward was elderly, experienced and intelligent, and
though he was custodian only of one of the minor properties in Leicester’s huge
and international honour, by the sharpening glint in his eye he was in his
lord’s confidence, and well acquainted with the mysterious and elaborate coffin
so strangely jettisoned in the forest beyond Ullesthorpe.