The Devils Novice (6 page)

“And
what
has
become of him?” asked Cadfael shrewdly. “For his lordship, it
seems, is now on his way south again to join King Stephen. And what sort of
welcome did he get in Chester?”

“As
warm and civil as heart could wish. And for what my judgement is worth, Canon
Eluard, however loyal he may be to Bishop Henry’s efforts for peace, is more
inclined to Stephen’s side than to the empress, and is off back to Westminster
now to tell the King he might be wise to strike while the iron’s hot, and go
north in person and offer a few sweetmeats to keep Chester and Roumare as
well-disposed to him as they are. A manor or two and a pleasant title—Roumare
is as good as earl of Lincoln now, why not call him so?—could secure his
position there. So, at any rate, Eluard seems to have gathered. Their loyalty
is pledged over and over. And for all his wife is daughter to Robert of
Gloucester, Ranulf did stay snug at home when Robert brought over his imperial
sister to take the field a year and more ago. Yes, it seems the situation there
could hardly be more to the canon’s satisfaction, now that it’s stated. But as
for why it was not stated a month or so ago, by the mouth of Peter Clemence
returning… Simple enough! The man never got there, and they never got his
embassage.”

“As
sound a reason as any for not answering it,” said Cadfael, unsmiling, and eyed
his friend’s saturnine visage with narrowed attention. “How far did he get on
his way, then?” There were wild places enough in this disrupted England where a
man could vanish, for no more than the coat he wore or the horse he rode. There
were districts where manors had been deserted and run wild, and forests had
been left unmanned, and whole villages, too exposed to danger, had been
abandoned and left to rot. Yet the north had suffered less than the south and
west by and large, and lords like Ranulf of Chester had kept their lands
relatively stable thus far.

“That’s
what Eluard has been trying to find out on his way back, stage by stage along
the most likely route a man would take. For certainly he never came near
Chester. And stage by stage our canon has drawn blank until he came into
Shropshire. Never a trace of Clemence, hide, hair or horse, all through
Cheshire.”

“And
none as far as Shrewsbury?” For Hugh had more to tell, he was frowning down
thoughtfully into the beaker he held between his thin, fine hands.

“Beyond
Shrewsbury, Cadfael, though only just beyond.

He’s
turned back a matter of a few miles to us, for reason enough. The last he can
discover of Peter Clemence is that he stayed the night of the eighth day of September
with a household to which he’s a distant cousin on the wife’s side. And where
do you think that was? At Leoric Aspley’s manor, down in the edge of the Long
Forest.”

“Do
you tell me!” Cadfael stared, sharply attentive now. The eighth of the month,
and a week or so later comes the steward Fremund with his lord’s request that
the younger son of the house should be received, at his own earnest wish, into
the cloister.
Post hoc
is not
propter hoc,
however. And in any
case, what connection could there possibly be between one man’s sudden
discovery that he felt a vocation, and another man’s overnight stay and morning
departure? “Canon Eluard knew he would make one of his halts there? The kinship
was known?”

“Both
the kinship and his intent, yes, known both to Bishop Henry and to Eluard. The
whole manor saw him come, and have told freely how he was entertained there.
The whole manor, or very near, saw him off on his journey next morning. Aspley
and his steward rode the first mile with him, with the household and half the
neighbours to see them go. No question, he left there whole and brisk and
well-mounted.”

“How
far to his next night’s lodging? And was he expected there?” For if he had
announced his coming, then someone should have been enquiring for him long
since.

“According
to Aspley, he intended one more halt at Whitchurch, a good halfway to his
destination, but he knew he could find easy lodging there and had not sent word
before. There’s no trace to be found of him there, no one saw or heard of him.”

“So
between here and Whitchurch the man is lost?”

“Unless
he changed his plans and his route, for which, God knows, there could be
reasons, even here in my writ,” said Hugh ruefully, “though I hope it is not
so. We keep the best order anywhere in this realm, or so I claim, challenge me
who will, but even so I doubt it good enough to make passage safe everywhere.
He may have heard something that caused him to turn aside. But the bleak truth
of it is, he’s lost. And all too long!”

“And
Canon Eluard wants him found?”

“Dead
or alive,” said Hugh grimly. “For so will Henry want him found, and an account
paid by someone for his price, for he valued him.”

“And
the search is laid upon you?” said Cadfael.

“Not
in such short terms, no. Eluard is a fair-minded man, he takes a part of the
load upon him, and doesn’t grudge. But this shire is my business, under the
sheriff, and I pick up my share of the burden. Here is a scholar and a cleric
vanished where my writ runs. That I do not like,” said Hugh, in the ominously
soft voice that had a silver lustre about it like bared steel.

Cadfael
came to the question that was uppermost in his mind. “And why, then, having the
witness of Aspley and all his house at his disposal, did Canon Eluard feel it
needful to turn back these few miles to Shrewsbury?” But already he knew the
answer.

“Because,
my friend, you have here the younger son of that house, new in his novitiate.
He is thorough, this Canon Eluard. He wants word from even the stray from that
tribe. Who knows which of all that manor may not have noticed the one thing
needful?”

It
was a piercing thought; it stuck in Cadfael’s mind, quivering like a dart. Who
knows, indeed? “He has not questioned the boy yet?”

“No,
he would not disrupt the evening offices for such a matter—nor his good supper,
either,” added Hugh with a brief grin. “But tomorrow he’ll have him into the
guests parlour and go over the affair with him, before he goes on southward to
join the king at Westminster, and prompt him to go and make sure of Chester and
Roumare, while he can.”

“And
you will be present at that meeting,” said Cadfael with certainty.

“I
shall be present. I need to know whatever any man can tell me to the point, if
a man has vanished by foul means within my jurisdiction. This is now as much my
business as it is Eluard’s.”

“You’ll
tell me,” said Cadfael confidently, “what the lad has to say, and how he bears
himself?”

“I’ll
tell you,” said Hugh, and rose to take his leave.

As
it turned out, Meriet bore himself with stoical calm during that interview in
the parlour, in the presence of Abbot Radulfus, Canon Eluard and Hugh Beringar,
the powers here of both church and state. He answered questions simply and
directly, without apparent hesitation.

Yes,
he had been present when Master Clemence came to break his journey at Aspley.
No, he had not been expected, he came unheralded, but the house of his kinsmen
was open to him whenever he would. No, he had not been there more than once
before as a guest, some years ago, he was now a man of affairs, and kept about
his lord’s person. Yes, Meriet himself had stabled the guest’s horse, and
groomed, watered and fed him, while the women had made Master Clemence welcome
within. He was the son of a cousin of Meriet’s mother, who was some two years
dead now—the Norman side of the family. And his entertainment? The best they
could lay before him in food and drink, music after the supper, and one more
guest at the table, the daughter of the neighbouring manor who was affianced to
Meriet’s elder brother Nigel. Meriet spoke of the occasion with wide-open eyes
and clear, still countenance.

“Did
Master Clemence say what his errand was?” asked Hugh suddenly. “Tell where he
was bound and for what purpose?”

“He
said he was on the bishop of Winchester’s business. I don’t recall that he said
more than that while I was there. But there was music after I left the hall,
and they were still seated. I went to see that all was done properly in the
stable. He may have said more to my father.”

“And
in the morning?” asked Canon Eluard.

“We
had all things ready to serve him when he rose, for he said he must be in the
saddle early. My father and Fremund, our steward, with two grooms, rode with
him the first mile of his way, and I, and the servants, and Isouda …”

“Isouda?”
said Hugh, pricking his ears at a new name. Meriet had passed by the mention of
his brother’s betrothed without naming her.

“She
is not my sister, she is heiress to the manor of Foriet, that borders ours on
the southern side. My father is her guardian and manages her lands, and she
lives with us.” A younger sister of small account, his tone said, for once
quite unguarded. “She was with us to watch Master Clemence from our doors with
all honour, as is due.”

“And
you saw no more of him?”

“I
did not go with them. But my father rode a piece more than is needful, for
courtesy, and left him on a good track.”

Hugh
had still one more question. “You tended his horse. What like was it?”

“A
fine beast, not above three years old, and mettlesome.” Meriet’s voice kindled
into enthusiasm, “A tall dark bay, with white blaze on his face from forehead
to nose, and two white forefeet.”

Noteworthy
enough, then, to be readily recognised when found, and moreover, to be a prize
for someone. “If somebody wanted the man out of this world, for whatever
reason,” said Hugh to Cadfael afterwards in the herb garden, “he would still
have a very good use for such a horse as that.

And
somewhere between here and Whitchurch that beast must be, and where he is
there’ll be threads to take up and follow. If the worst comes to it, a dead man
can be hidden, but a live horse is going to come within some curious soul’s
sight, sooner or later, and sooner or later I shall get wind of it.”

Cadfael
was hanging up under the eaves of his hut the rustling bunches of herbs newly
dried out at the end of the summer, but he was giving his full attention to
Hugh’s report at the same time. Meriet had been dismissed without, on the face
of it, adding anything to what Canon Eluard had already elicited from the rest
of the Aspley household. Peter Clemence had come and gone in good health,
well-mounted, and with the protection of the bishop of Winchester’s formidable
name about him. He had been escorted civilly a mile on his way. And vanished.

“Give
me, if you can, the lad’s answers in his very words,” requested Cadfael. “Where
there’s nothing of interest to be found in the content, it’s worth taking a
close look at the manner.”

Hugh
had an excellent memory, and reproduced Meriet’s replies even to the intonation.
“But there’s nothing there, barring a very good description of the horse. Every
question he answered and still told us nothing, since he knows nothing.”

“Ah,
but he did not answer every question,” said Cadfael. “And I think he may have
told us a few notable things, though whether they have any bearing on Master
Clemence’s vanishing seems dubious. Canon Eluard asked him: “And you saw no
more of him?” And the lad said:
“I did not go with them.”
But he did not
say he had seen no more of the departed guest. And again, when he spoke of the
servants and this Foriet girl, all gathered to speed the departure with him, he
did not say “and my brother.” Nor did he say that his brother had ridden with
the escort.”

“All
true,” agreed Hugh, not greatly impressed. “But none of these need mean
anything at all. Very few of us watch every word, to leave no possible detail
in doubt.”

“That
I grant. Yet it does no harm to note such small things, and wonder. A man not
accustomed to lying, but brought up against the need, will evade if he can.
Well, if you find your horse in some stable thirty miles or more from here,
there’ll be no need for you or me to probe behind every word young Meriet
speaks, for the hunt will have outrun him and all his family. And they can
forget Peter Clemence—barring the occasional Mass, perhaps, for a kinsman’s
soul.”

Canon
Eluard departed for London, secretary, groom, baggage and all, bent on urging
King Stephen to pay a diplomatic visit to the north before Christmas, and
secure his interest with the two powerful brothers who ruled there almost from
coast to coast. Ranulf of Chester and William of Roumare had elected to spend
the feast at Lincoln with their ladies, and a little judicious flattery and the
dispensing of a modest gift or two might bring in a handsome harvest. The canon
had paved the way already, and meant to make the return journey in the king’s
party.

“And
on the way back,” he said, taking leave of Hugh in the great court of the
abbey, “I shall turn aside from his Grace’s company and return here, in the
hope that by then you will have some news for me. The bishop will be in great
anxiety.”

He
departed, and Hugh was left to pursue the search for Peter Clemence, which had
now become, for all practical purposes, the search for his bay horse. And
pursue it he did, with vigour, deploying as many men as he could muster along
the most frequented ways north, visiting lords of manors, invading stables,
questioning travellers. When the more obvious halting places yielded nothing,
they spread out into wilder country. In the north of the shire the land was
flatter, with less forest but wide expanses of heath, moorland and scrub, and
several large tracts of peat-moss, desolate and impossible to cultivate, though
the locals who knew the safe dykes cut and stacked fuel there for their winter
use.