He told her briefly all that had happened at Cadwallon’s house, how he had brooded upon it without enlightenment as to how it was to be used, and how Annest in innocence had shown him. Then he told her what he required of her.
“I know you can speak English, you must use it tonight.
This may be a more dangerous trap than any we’ve laid before, but I shall be close by. And you may call in Engelard, too, if he’ll promise to stay close in cover. But, child, if you have any doubts or fears, if you’d rather let be, and have me try some other way, say so now, and so be it.”
“No,” she said, “no doubts and no fears. I can do anything. I dare do anything.”
“Then sit down with me, and learn your part well, for we haven’t long. And while we plan, can I ask you to bring me some bread and a morsel of cheese? For I’ve missed my supper.”
Prior Robert and Brother Richard rode into Rhisiart’s yard with the prince’s bailiff between them, his two henchmen and Brother Cadfael close behind, at about half past seven, in a mild twilight, with all the unhurried ceremony of the law, rather as if Griffith ap Rhys held his commission from Saint Benedict, and not from Owain Gwynedd. The bailiff was, in fact, more than a little vexed at this unfortunate encounter, which had left him no alternative but to comply with Robert’s demands. An offence against Welsh law was alleged, and had been reported to him, and he was obliged to investigate it, where, considering the circumstances, he would much have preferred to pack all the Benedictine delegation back to Shrewsbury, and let them sort out their own grudges there, without bothering a busy man who had plenty of more important things on his mind. Unhappily Cadwallon’s villein, the long-legged fellow who had been brought down by Brother John, had given vociferous evidence in support of the accusation, or it would have been easier to ignore it.
There was no one on duty at the gate, which was strange, and as they rode in, a number of people seemed to be running hither and thither in a distracted way, as if something unforeseen had happened, and confused and conflicting orders were being given from several authorities at once. No groom ran to attend to them, either. Prior Robert was displeased. Griffith ap Rhys was mildly and alertly interested. When someone did take notice of them, it was a very handsome young person in a green gown, who came running with her skirts gathered in her hands, and her light-brown hair slipping out of its glossy coil to her shoulders.
“Oh, sirs, you must excuse us this neglect, we’ve been so disturbed! The gate-keeper was called away to help, and all the grooms are hunting…. But I’m ashamed to let our troubles cast a shadow over our hospitality. My lady’s resting, and can’t be disturbed, but I’m at your service. Will it please you light down? Shall I have lodgings made ready?”
“We don’t propose to stay,” said Griffith ap Rhys, already suspecting this artless goodwill, and approving the way she radiated it. “We came to relieve you of a certain young malefactor you’ve had in hold here. But it seems you’ve suffered some further calamity, and we should be sorry to add to your troubles, or disturb your lady, after the grievous day she’s endured.”
“Madam,” said Prior Robert, civilly but officiously, “you are addressing the prince’s bailiff of Rhos, and I am the prior of Shrewsbury abbey. You have a brother of that abbey in confinement here, the royal bailiff is come to relieve you of his care.”
All of which Cadfael duly and solemnly translated for Annest’s benefit, his face as guileless as hers.
“Oh, sir!” She opened her eyes wide and curtseyed deeply to Griffith and cursorily to the prior, separating her own from the alien. “It’s true we had such a brother here a prisoner….”
“Had?” said Robert sharply, for once detecting the change of tense.
“Had?” said Griffith thoughtfully.
“He’s gone, sir! You see what confusion he’s left behind. This evening, when his keeper took him his supper, this brother struck him down with a board torn loose from the manger in this prison, and dropped the bolt on him and slipped away. It was some time before we knew. He must have climbed the wall, you see it is not so high. We have men out now looking for him in the woods, and searching everywhere here within. But I fear he’s clean gone!”
Cai made his entrance at the perfect time, issuing from one of the barns with shaky steps, his head wreathed in a white cloth lightly dabbled with red.
“The poor man, the villain broke his head for him! It was some time before he could drag himself to the door and hammer on it, and make himself heard. There’s no knowing how far the fellow may have got by now. But the whole household is out hunting for him.”
The bailiff, as in duty bound, questioned Cai, but gently and briefly, questioned all the other servants, who ran to make themselves useful and succeeded only in being magnificently confusing. And Prior Robert, burning with vengeful zeal, would have pressed them more strenuously but for the bailiff’s presence and obvious prior right, and the brevity of the time at his disposal if he was to get back for Compline. In any case, it was quite clear that Brother John was indeed over the wall and clean gone. Most willingly they showed the place where he had been confined, and the manger from which he had ripped the board, and the board itself, artistically spattered at one end with spots of Cai’s gore, though it may, of course, have been pigment borrowed from the butcher.
“It seems your young man has given us all the slip,” said Griffith, with admirable serenity for a man of law who has lost a malefactor. “There’s nothing more to be done here. They could hardly expect such violence from a Benedictine brother, it’s no blame to them.”
With considerable pleasure Cadfael translated that neat little stab. It kindled a spark in the speaking eyes of the young person in green, and Griffith did not miss it. But to challenge it would have been folly. The clear brown eyes would have opened wide enough and deep enough to drown a man in their innocence. “We’d best leave them in peace to mend their broken mangers and broken heads,” said Griffith, “and look elsewhere for our fugitive.”
“The wretch compounds his offences,” said Robert, furious. “But I cannot allow his villainy to disrupt my mission. I must set out for home tomorrow, and leave his capture to you.”
“You may trust me to deal properly with him,” said Griffith drily, “when he is found.” If he laid the slightest of emphasis on the “when”, no one appeared to remark it but Cadfael and Annest. By this time Annest was quite satisfied that she liked this princely official, and could trust him to behave like a reasonable man who is not looking for trouble, or trying to make it for others as harmless as himself.
“And you will restore him to our house when he has purged his offences under Welsh law?”
“When he has done so,” said Griffith, decidedly with some stress this time on the “when”, “you shall certainly have him back.”
With that Prior Robert had to be content, though his Norman spirit burned at being deprived of its rightful victim. And on the ride back he was by no means placated by Griffith’s tales of the large numbers of fugitive outlaws who had found no difficulty in living wild in these forests, and even made friends among the country people, and been accepted into families, and even into respectability at last. It galled his orderly mind to think of insubordination mellowing with time and being tolerated and condoned. He was in no very Christian mood when he swept into Father Huw’s church, only just in time for Compline.
They were all there but Brother John, the remaining five brethren from Shrewsbury and a good number of the people of Gwytherin, to witness the last flowering of Brother Columbanus’ devotional gift of ecstasy, now dedicated entirely to Saint Winifred, his personal patroness who had healed him of madness, favoured him with her true presence in a dream, and made known her will through him in the matter of Rhisiart’s burial. For at the end of Compline, rising to go to his self-chosen vigil, Columbanus turned to the altar, raised his arms in a sweeping gesture, and prayed aloud in a high, clear voice that the virgin martyr would deign to visit him once more in his holy solitude, in the silence of the night, and reveal to him again the inexpressible bliss from which he had returned so reluctantly to this imperfect world. And more, that this time, if she found him worthy of translation out of the body, she would take him up living into that world of light. Humbly he submitted his will to endure here below, and do his duty in the estate assigned him, but rapturously he sent his desire soaring to the timber roof, to be uplifted out of the flesh, transported through death without dying, if he was counted ready for the assumption.