“No!” Prestcote was so fascinated by the details he could not deny that the answer escaped him involuntarily. It would have been futile to snatch it back. He looked up at Brother Cadfael across the unknown young man’s body, and his face sharpened and hardened into hostility. “There is nothing to be gained,” he said deliberately, “by making public so wild a tale. Bury your dead and be content. Let the rest be!”
“You have not considered,” said Cadfael mildly, “that as yet there is no one who can put a name or a badge to this boy. He may as well be an envoy of the king as an enemy. Better treat him fairly, and keep your peace with both God and man. Also,” he said, in a tone even more cloistrally innocent, “you may raise doubts of your own integrity if you meddle with truth. If I were you, I would report this faithfully, and send out that proclamation to the townsfolk at once, for we are ready. Then, if any can claim this young man, you have delivered your soul. And if not, then clearly you have done all man can do to right a wrong. And your duty ends there.”
Prestcote eyed him darkly for some moments, and then rose abruptly from his knees. “I will send out the word,” he said, and stalked away into the hail.
The news was cried through the town, and word sent formally to the abbey, so that the same announcement might be made at the guest house there. Hugh Beringar, riding in from the east on his return from the king’s camp, having forded the river at an island downstream, heard the proclamation at the gate house of the abbey, and saw among those anxiously listening the slight figure of Aline Siward, who had come out from her house to hear the news. For the first time he saw her with head uncovered. Her hair was the light, bright gold he had imagined it would be, and shed a few curling strands on either side her oval face. The long lashes shadowing her eyes were many shades darker, a rich bronze. She stood listening intently, gnawed a doubtful lip, and knotted her small hands together. She looked hesitant, and burdened, and very young.
Beringar dismounted only a few paces from her, as if he had by mere chance chosen that spot in order to be still and hear to the end what Prior Robert was saying.
” — and his Grace the king gives free warranty to any who may wish, to come and claim their kin, if there be any such among the executed, and give them burial in their own place and at their own charge. Also, since there is one in particular whose identity is not known, he desires that all who come may view him, and if they can, name him. All which may be done without fear of penalty or disfavour.”
Not everyone would take that at its face value, but she did. What was troubling her was not fear of any consequences to herself, but a desperate feeling that she ought to make this dolorous pilgrimage, while equally earnestly she shrank from the horrors she might have to see. She had, Beringar remembered, a brother who had defied his father and run off to join the empress’s adherents; and though she had heard rumours that he might have reached France, she had no means of knowing if they were true. Now she was struggling to escape the conviction that wherever there were garrisons of her brother’s faction fallen victims of this civil war, she ought to go and assure herself that he was not among them. She had the most innocent and eloquent of faces, her every thought shone through.
“Madam,” said Beringar, very softly and respectfully, “if there is any way I can be of service to you, I beg you command me.”
She turned to look at him, and smiled, for she had seen him in church, and knew him to be a guest here like herself, and stress had turned Shrewsbury into a town where people behaved to one another either as loyal neighbours or potential informers, and of the latter attitude she was incapable. Nevertheless, he saw fit to establish his credentials. “You will remember I came to offer the king my troth when you did. My name is Hugh Beringar of Maesbury. It would give me pleasure to serve, you. And it seemed to me that you were finding cause for perplexity and distress in what we have just heard. If there is any errand I can do for you, I will, gladly.”
“I do remember you,” said Aline, “and I take your offer very kindly, but this is something only I can do, if it must be done. No one else here would know my brother’s face. To tell the truth, I was hesitating … But there will be women from the town, I know, going there with certain knowledge to find their sons. If they can do it, so can I.”
“But you have no good reason,” he said, “to suppose that your brother may be among these unfortunates.”
“None, except that I don’t know where he is, and I do know he embraced the empress’s cause. It would be better, wouldn’t it, to be sure? Not to miss any possibility? As often as I do not find him dead, I may hope to see him again alive.”
“Was he very dear to you?” asked Beringar gently.
She hesitated to answer that, taking it very gravely. “No, I never knew him as sister should know brother. Giles was always for his own friends and his own way, and five years my elder. By the time I was eleven or twelve he was for ever away from home, and came back only to quarrel with my father. But he is the only brother I have, and I have not disinherited him. And they’re saying there’s one there more than they counted, and unknown.”
“It will not be Giles,” he said firmly.
“But if it were? Then he needs his name, and his sister to do what’s right.” She had made up her mind. “I must go.”
“I think you should not. But I am sure you should not go alone.” He thought ruefully that her answer to that would be that she had her maid to accompany her, but instead she said at once: “I will not take Constance into such a scene! She has no kin there, and why should she have to suffer it as well as I?”
“Then, if you will have me, I will go with you.”
He doubted if she had any artifice in her; certainly at this pass she showed none. Her anxious face brightened joyfully, she looked at him with the most ingenuous astonishment, hope and gratitude. But she still hesitated. “That is kind indeed, but I can’t let you do it. Why should you be subjected to such pain, just because I have a duty?”
“Oh, come now!” he said indulgently, sure of himself and of her. “I shall not have a moment’s peace if you refuse me and go alone. But if you tell me I shall only be adding to your distress by insisting, then I’ll be silent and obey you. On no other condition.”
It was more than she could do. Her lips quivered. “No — it would be a lie. I am not very brave !” she said sadly. “I shall be grateful indeed.”
He had what he had wanted; he made the most of it. Why ride, when the walk through the town could be made to last so much longer, and provide so much more opportunity to get to know her better? Hugh Beringar sent his horse to the stables, and set out with Aline along the highway and over the bridge into Shrewsbury.
Brother Cadfael was standing guard over his murdered man in a corner of the inner ward, beside the archway, where every citizen who came in search of child or kinsman must pass close, and could be questioned. But all he got so far was mute shaking of heads and glances half-pitying, half-relieved. No one knew the young man. And how could he expect great concern from these poor souls who came looking, every one, for some known face, and barely saw the rest?
Prestcote had made good his word, there was no tally kept of those who came, and no hindrance placed in their way, or question asked of them. He wanted his castle rid of its grim reminders as quickly as possible. The guard, under Adam Courcelle, had orders to remain unobtrusive, even to help if that would get the unwelcome guests off the premises by nightfall.