Monk's Hood (31 page)

“But
it may end like that, some day,” said Cadfael seriously.

“In
a felony?” Hugh looked back from the doorway, still smiling.

“In
a vocation. More than one has gone from the one to the other, Hugh, and been
profitable to the world in between.”

It
was in the afternoon of the following day that Edwy and Edwin presented
themselves at the door of the workshop, in their best, very well brushed and
trimmed, and both looking slightly shocked into unusually discreet behaviour,
at least at first. This subdued demeanour rendered them so alike that Cadfael
had to look closely for the brown eyes and the hazel to be certain which of
them was which. Their thanks were cheerfully and heartily expressed, their
contentment had made total peace between them for the time being.

“This
ceremonial finery,” said Cadfael, eyeing the pair of them with cautious
benevolence, “can hardly be for me.”

“The
lord abbot sent for me,” explained Edwin, his eyes rounding in awe at the
recollection. “My mother made me put on my best. He only came with me out of
curiosity, he wasn’t invited.”

“And
he fell over his feet in the doorway,” Edwy countered promptly, “and blushed
red as a cardinal’s hat.”

“I
did not!”

“You
did! You’re doing it now.” And indeed he was; the very suggestion produced the
flooding crimson.

“So
Abbot Radulfus sent for you,” said Cadfael. Clearing up unfinished business, he
thought, and briskly, too. “And what did you think of our new abbot?”

Neither
of these two was going to own to being impressed. They exchanged a considering
glance, and Edwy said: “He was very fair. But I’m not sure I’d want to be a
novice here.”

“He
said,” reported Edwin, “that it would be matter for discussion with my mother,
and with the lawmen, but clearly the manor can’t belong to the abbey, the
agreement is void, and if the will is proven, and the earl of Chester confirms
his assent as overlord, Mallilie will be mine, and until I’m of age the abbey
will leave a steward there to manage it, and the lord abbot himself will be my
guardian.”

“And
what did you say to that?”

“I
thanked him and said yes, very heartily. What else? Who knows better how to run
a manor? I can learn all the art from them. And we are to return there, my
mother and I, as
soon as we wish, and that will be very soon,
if we don’t get more snows.” Edwin’s eager brightness, though not dimmed,
nevertheless grew very solemn. “Brother Cadfael, it was a terrible thing—about
Meurig. Hard to understand…

Yes,
for the young very hard, and almost impossible to forgive. But where there had
been liking and trust there still remained a residue of unquenchable warmth,
incompatible with the revulsion and horror he felt for a poisoner.

“I
wouldn’t have let him have Mallilie without a fight,” said Edwin, dourly intent
on absolute honesty. “But if he’d won, I don’t think I’d have grudged it to
him. And if I’d won… I don’t know! He would never have shared it, would he? But
I’m glad he got away! If that’s wicked, I can’t help it. I am glad!”

If
it was wicked, he had company in his fault, but Cadfael said nothing of that.

“Brother
Cadfael… As soon as we’re home again in Mallilie, I mean to go and visit Ifor
ap Morgan. He did give me the kiss when I asked him. I can be a kind of
grandson.”

Thank
God I didn’t make the mistake of suggesting it to him, thought Cadfael
devoutly. There’s nothing the young hate and resent so much as to be urged to a
good act, when they’ve already made the virtuous resolve on their own account.

“That’s
very well thought of,” he said warmly. “He’ll be glad of you. If you take Edwy
with you to his house, better teach him how to tell you apart, his eyes may not
be quite so sharp as mine.”

They
both grinned at that. Edwy said: “He still owes me for the buffeting I got on
his account, and the night I spent in prison here. I mean to have a foot in the
door of Mallilie as often as I please on the strength of that.”

“I
had two nights of it,” objected Edwin smartly, “and in a much worse place.”

“You?
Never a bruise on you, and in clover there with Hugh Beringar looking after
you!”

And
thereupon Edwin jabbed Edwy smartly in the middle with a stiff forefinger, and
Edwy hooked a knee under Ed
win’s, and spilled him to the
floor, both laughing. Cadfael looked on tolerantly for a while, and then
grasped two separate handfuls of thick, curling hair, and plucked them apart.
They rolled clear and came obligingly to their feet, grinning broadly, and
looking much less immaculate than before.

“You
are a pestilential pair, and I wish Ifor ap Morgan joy of you,” said Cadfael,
but very complacently. “You’re the lord of a manor now, young Edwin, or will be
when you’re of age. Then you’d better be studying your responsibilities. Is
that the kind of example uncle should set before nephew?”

Edwin
stopped shaking and dusting himself into order with abrupt gravity, and stood
erect, large-eyed. “I have been thinking of my duties, truly. There’s much I
don’t yet know, and have to learn, but I told the lord abbot… I don’t like it,
I never liked it, that my stepfather entered suit against Aelfric, and made him
villein, when he thought himself born free, as his fathers had been before him.
I asked him if I could free a man, or if I had to wait until I was of age, and
got seisin myself. And he said certainly it could be done at will, and he would
be sponsor for me. I am going to see Aelfric a free man. And I think… that is,
he and Aldith…”

“I
told him,” said Edwy, giving himself a brief shake, like a dog, and settling
back at ease on the bench, “that Aldith likes Aelfric, and once he’s free they
will certainly marry, and Aelfric is lettered, and knows Mallilie, and will
make a splendid steward, when the abbey hands over the manor.”

“You
told me! I knew very well she liked him, only he wouldn’t say how much he liked
her. And what do you know about manors and stewards, you prentice carpenter?”

“More
than you’ll ever know about wood, and carving, and craftsmanship, you prentice
baron!”

They
were at it again, locked in a bear’s hug, propped in the corner of the bench,
Edwy with a grip on Edwin’s russet thatch, Edwin with fingers braced into
Edwy’s ribs, tickling him into convulsions of laughter. Cadfael hoisted the
pair of them in his arms, and heaved them towards the door.

“Out!
Take your cantrips off these premises, where they
hardly
belong. There, go and find a bear-pit!” Even to himself he sounded foolishly
proud and proprietary.

At
the door they fell apart with bewildering ease and neatness, and both turned to
beam at him. Edwin remembered to plead, in penitent haste: “Brother Cadfael,
will you please come and see my mother before we leave? She begs you!”

“I
will,” said Cadfael, helpless to say otherwise, “I will, surely!”

He
watched them go, out towards the great court and the gatehouse, again wrangling
amiably, arms round each other in ambiguous embrace and assault. Strange
creatures at this age, capable of heroic loyalty and gallantry under pressure,
earnest in pursuing serious ends, and reverting to the battle-play of pups from
one litter when all was serene in their world.

Cadfael
turned back into his workshop, and barred the door against all the rest of the
world, even Brother Mark. It was very quiet in there, and very dim with the
darkness of the timber walls and the faint blue smoke from the brazier. A home
within a home to him now, and all he wanted. It was well over, as Hugh Beringar
had said, with no more waste than was inevitable. Edwin would have his manor,
Aelfric would have his freedom, a secure future, good ground for loosening his
tongue and declaring himself to Aldith; and no doubt, if he proved obstinate
about it, she would find the means of prompting him. Brother Rhys would have a
long gossip about his kin, and his little flask of the right spirit, and hazy
memory would film over the gap left by a lost great-nephew. Ifor ap Morgan
would have a grief of his own, never mentioned, but a hope of his own, too, and
a substitute grandchild only a short ride away. And Meurig, somewhere at large
in the world, had the long penance before him, and good need of other men’s
prayers. He would not want for Cadfael’s.

He
settled himself at ease on the bench where the boys had wrestled and laughed,
and put up his feet comfortably. He wondered if he could legitimately plead
that he was still
confined within the enclave until Richildis
left for Mallilie, and decided that that would be cowardly only after he had
decided that in any case he had no intention of doing it.

She
was, after all, a very attractive woman, even now, and her gratitude would be a
very pleasant indulgence; there was even a decided lure in the thought of a
conversation that must inevitably begin to have: “Do you remember…?” as its
constant refrain. Yes, he would go. It was not often he was able to enjoy an
orgy of shared remembrances.

In a week or
two, after all, the entire household would be removing to Mallilie, all those
safe miles away. He was not likely to see much of Richildis after that. Brother
Cadfael heaved a deep sigh that might have been of regret, but might equally
well have been of relief.

Ah,
well! Perhaps it was all for the best!

About
the Author

ELLIS PETERS is
the nom-de-crime of English novelist Edith Pargeter, author of scores of books
under her own name. She is the recipient of the Silver Dagger Award, conferred
by the Crime Writers Association in Britain, as well as the coveted Edgar,
awarded by the Mystery Writers of America. Miss Pargeter is also well known as
a translator of poetry and prose from the Czech and has been awarded the Gold
Medal and Ribbon of the Czechoslovak Society for Foreign Relations for her
services to Czech literature. She passed away in 1995, at the age of 82, at
home in her beloved Shropshire.