They had absolute faith in him, and did his bidding without question, though Engelard, once he had assured himself that Sioned was not gravely hurt, and had himself carefully and deftly bandaged her scratch, returned to his dogged opinion that their best course was to tell the whole story, which could hardly cast infamy upon anyone but Columbanus. Cadfael busied himself with flint and tinder until he had candles lighted, and the lamp refilled, from which he himself had drained a judicious quantity of oil before Sioned took her place under the draperies of the saint’s catafalque.
“You think,” he said at length, “that because you’ve done nothing wrong, and we’ve all of us banded together to expose a wrong, that the whole world will be of the same opinion, and honestly come out and say so. Child, I know better! The only proof we have of Columbanus’ guilt is his confession, which both of us here heard. Or rather, the only proof we had, for we no longer have even that. Alive, we two could have forced the truth out of him a second time. Dead, he’s never going to give us that satisfaction. And without that, our position is vulnerable enough. Make no mistake, if we accuse him, if this fearful scandal breaks, to smirch the abbey of Shrewsbury, and all the force of the Benedictine order, backed here by the bishop and the prince, take my word for it, all the forces of authority will band together to avert the disaster, and nobody, much less a friendless outlander, will be allowed to stand in the way. They simply can’t afford to have the acquisition of Saint Winifred called in question and brought to disrepute. Rather than that, they’ll call this an outlaw killing by a desperate man, a fugitive already, wanted for another crime, and trying to escape both together. A pity,” he said, “I ever suggested that Sioned should call you in to wait in reserve, in case we had trouble. But none of this is your fault, and I won’t have you branded with it. I made the plot, and I must unravel it. But give up all idea of going straight to Father Huw, or the bailiff, or anyone else, with the true story. Far better use the rest of this night to rearrange matters to better advantage. Justice can be arrived at by more routes than one.”
“They wouldn’t dare doubt Sioned’s word,” said Engelard stoutly.
“Fool boy, they’d say that Sioned, for love’s sake, might go as far aside from her proper nature as Peredur did. And as for me, my influence is small enough, and I am not interested in protecting only myself, but as many of those in this coil as I can reach. Even my prior, who is arrogant and rigid, and to tell the truth, sometimes rather stupid, but not a murderer and not a liar. And my order, which has not deserved Columbanus. Hush, now, and let me think! And while I do, you can be clearing away the remains of the syrup bottle. This chapel must be as neat and quiet tomorrow as before we ever brought our troubles into it.”
Obediently they went about removing the traces of the night’s alarms, and let him alone until he should have found them a way through the tangle.
“And I wonder, now,” he said at length, “what made you improve on all the speeches I made for you, and put such fiery words into Saint Winifred’s mouth? What put it into your head to say that you’d never wanted to leave Gwytherin, and did not want it now? That Rhisiart was not merely a decent, honest man, but your chosen champion?”
She turned and looked at him in astonishment and wonder. “Did I say that?”
“You did, and very well you delivered it, too. And very proper and apt it sounded, but I think we never rehearsed it so. Where did you get the words?”
“I don’t know,” said Sioned, puzzled. “I don’t remember what I did say. The words seemed to come freely of themselves, I only let them flow.”
“It may be,” said Engelard, “that the saint was taking her chance when it offered. All these strangers having visions and ecstasies, and interpreting them to suit themselves, yet nobody ever really asked Saint Winifred what she wanted. They all claimed they knew better than she did.”
“Out of the mouths of innocents!” said Cadfael to himself, and pondered the road that was gradually opening before his mind’s eye. Of all the people who ought to be left happy with the outcome, Saint Winifred should surely come first. Aim, he thought, at making everybody happy, and if that’s within reach, why stir up any kind of unpleasantness? Take Columbanus, for instance! Only a few hours ago at Compline he prayed aloud before us all that if the virgin deemed him worthy, he might be taken up out of this world this very night, translated instantly out of the body. Well, that was one who got his wish! Maybe he’d have withdrawn his request if he’d known it was going to be taken up so literally, for its purpose was rather to reflect incomparable holiness upon him while he was still alive to enjoy it. But saints have a right to suppose that their devotees mean what they say, and bestow gifts accordingly. And if the saint has really spoken through Sioned, he thought — and who am I to question it? — if she really wants to stay here in her own village, which is a reasonable enough wish, well, the plot where she used to sleep has been newly turned today, no one will notice anything if it’s turned again tonight.
“I believe,” said Sioned, watching him with the first faint smile, wan but trusting, “you’re beginning to see your way.”
“I believe,” said Cadfael, “I’m beginning to see our way, which is more to the point. Sioned, I have something for you to do, and you need not hurry, we have work to do here while you’re away. Take that sheet of yours, and go and spread it under the may trees in the hedge, where they’re beginning to shed, but not yet brown, Shake the bushes and. bring us a whole cloud of petals. The last time she visited him, it was with wondrous sweet odours and a shower of white flowers. Bring the one, and we shall have the other.”
Confidently, understanding nothing as yet, she took the linen sheet from which she had unwound herself as from a shroud, and went to do his bidding.
“Give me the dagger,” said Cadfael briskly when she was gone. He wiped the blade on the veil Columbanus had torn from Sioned’s head, and moved the candles so that they shone upon the great red seals that closed Winifred’s reliquary. “Thank God he didn’t bleed,” he said. “His habit and clothes are unmarked. Strip him!”
And he fingered the first seal, nodded satisfaction at its fatness and the thinness and sharpness of the dagger, and thrust the tip of the blade into the flame of the lamp.
Long before daylight they were ready. They walked down all three together from the chapel towards the village, and separated at the edge of the wood, where the shortest path turned off uphill towards Rhisiart’s holding.
Sioned carried with her the blood-stained sheet and veil, and the fragments of glass they had buried in the forest. A good thing the servants who had filled in Rhisiart’s grave had left their spades on the scene, meaning to tidy the mound next day. That had saved a journey to borrow without leave, and a good hour of time.
“There’ll be no scandal,” said Cadfael, when they halted at the place where the paths divided. “No scandal, and no accusations. I think you may take him home with you, but keep him out of sight until we’re gone. There’ll be peace when we’re gone. And you needn’t fear that the prince or his bailiff will ever proceed further against Engelard, any more than against John. I’ll speak a word in Peredur’s ear, Peredur will speak it into the bailiff’s ear, the bailiff will speak it into Owain Gwynedd’s ear — Father Huw we’ll leave out of it, no need to burden his conscience, the good, simple man. And if the monks of Shrewsbury are happy, and the people of Gwytherin are happy — for they’ll hear the whisper fast enough — why should anyone want to upset such a satisfactory state of affairs, by speaking the word aloud? A wise prince — and Owain Gwynedd seems to me very wise — will let well alone.”