“Does not your boy see to that?” asked Hugh Beringar innocently.
“A boy slipping out of the dortoir,” said Brother Cadfael, “would soon have cause to rue it. We take better care of our children here, my lord, than you seem to think.”
“I’m glad to hear it. It’s well enough for seasoned old soldiers turned monk to risk the chills of the night, but the young things ought to be protected.” His voice was sweet and smooth as honey. “I was telling you of this odd thing about the horses … A couple of days later, if you’ll believe it, they rounded up another saddle-horse running loose, grazing up in the heathlands north of the town, still saddled. They’re thinking there was a single bodyguard sent out from the castle, when the assault came, to pick up Adeney’s daughter from wherever she was hidden, and escort her safely out of the ring round Shrewsbury. They think the attempt failed,” he said softly, “when her attendant took to the river to save her. So she’s still missing, and still thought to be somewhere here, close in hiding. And they’ll be looking for her, Brother Cadfael — they’ll be looking for her now more eagerly than ever.”
They were up at the edge of the inner gardens by then. Hugh Beringar breathed an almost silent “Good night!” and was gone like a shadow towards the guest house.
Before he slept out the rest of the night, Brother Cadfael lay awake long enough to do some very hard thinking. And the longer he thought,, the more convinced he became that someone had indeed approached the mill closely enough and silently enough to catch the last few sentences spoken within; and that the someone was Hugh Beringar, past all doubt. He had proved how softly he could move, how instinctively he adapted his movements to circumstances, he had provoked a shared expedition committing each of them to the other’s discretion, and he had uttered a number of cryptic confidences calculated to arouse suspicion and alarm, and possibly precipitate unwise action — though Cadfael had no intention of giving him that last satisfaction. He did not believe the listener had been within earshot long. But the last thing Cadfael himself had said gave away plainly enough that he intended somehow to get hold of two horses, retrieve the hidden treasury, and see Torold on his way with “her.” If Beringar had been at the door just a moment earlier, he must also have heard the girl named; but even without that he must surely have had his suspicions. Then just what game was he playing, with his own best horses, with the fugitives he could betray at any moment, yet had not so far betrayed, and with Brother Cadfael? A better and larger prize offered than merely one young man’s capture, and the exploitation of a girl against whom he had no real grudge. A man like Beringar might prefer to risk all and play for all, Torold, Godith and treasure in one swoop. For himself alone, as once before, though without success? Or for the king’s gain and favour? He was indeed a young man of infinite possibilities.
Cadfael thought about him for a long time before he slept, and one thing, at least, was clear. If Beringar knew now that Cadfael had as good as undertaken to recover the treasury, then from this point on he would hardly let Cadfael out of his sight, for he needed him to lead him to the spot. A little light began to dawn, faint but promising, just before sleep came. It seemed no more than a moment before the bell was rousing him with the rest for Prime.
“Today,” said Cadfael to Godith, in the garden after breakfast, “do all as usual, go to the Mass before chapter, and then to your schooling. After dinner you should work a little in the garden, and see to the medicines, but after that you can slip away to the old mill, discreetly, mind, until Vespers. Can you dress Torold’s wound without me? I may not be seen there today.”
“Surely I can,” she said blithely. “I’ve seen it done, and I know the herbs now. But … If someone, if he, was spying on us yesterday, how if he comes today?” She had been told of the night’s expedition, briefly, and the implications at once heartened and alarmed her.
“He will not,” said Cadfael positively. “If all goes well, wherever I am today, there he will be. That’s why I want you away from me, and why you may breathe more easily away from me. And there’s something I may want you and Torold to do for me, late tonight, if things go as I expect. When we come to Vespers, then I’ll tell you, yes or no. If it’s yes, that’s all I need say, and this is what you must do …”
She listened in glowing silence throughout, and nodded eager comprehension. “Yes, I saw the boat, leaning against the wall of the mill. Yes, I know the thicket of bushes at the beginning of the garden, close under the end of the bridge … Yes, of course we can do it, Torold and I together!”
“Wait long enough to be sure,” cautioned Cadfael. “And now run off to the parish Mass, and your lessons, and look as like the other boys as you can, and don’t be afraid. If there should be any cause for fear, I intend to hear of it early, and I’ll be with you at once.”
A part of Cadfael’s thinking was rapidly proved right. He made it his business to be very active about the precincts that Sunday, attendant at every service, trotting on various errands from gate house to guest house, to the abbot’s lodging, the infirmary, the gardens; and everywhere that he went, somewhere within view, unobtrusive but present, was Hugh Beringar. Never before had that young man been so constantly at church, in attendance even when Aline was not among the worshippers. Now let’s see, thought Cadfael, with mild malice, whether I can lure him from the lists even when she does attend, and leave the field open for the other suitor. For Aline would certainly come to the Mass after chapter, and his last foray to the gate house had shown him Adam Courcelle, dressed for peace and piety, approaching the door of the small house where she and her maid were lodged.
It was unheard of for Cadfael to be absent from Mass, but for once he invented an errand which gave him fair excuse. His skills with medicines were known in the town, and people often asked for his help and advice. Abbot Heribert -was indulgent to such requests, and lent his herbalist freely. There was a child along the Foregate towards St Giles who had been under his care from time to time for a skin infection, and though he was growing out of it gradually, and there was no great need for a visit this day, no one had the authority to contradict Cadfael when he pronounced it necessary to go.
In the gateway he met Aline Siward and Adam Courcelle entering, she slightly flushed, certainly not displeased with her escort, but perhaps a little embarrassed, the king’s officer devoutly attentive and also warmly flushed, clearly in his case with pleasure. If Aline was expecting to be accosted by Beringar, as had become usual by this time, for once she was surprised. Whether relieved or disappointed there was no telling. Beringar was nowhere to be seen.
Proof positive, thought Cadfael, satisfied, and went on his physicianly visit serenely and without haste. Beringar was discretion itself in his surveillance, he contrived not to be seen at all until Cadfael, on his way home again, met him ambling out gently for exercise on one of his remaining horses, and whistling merrily as he rode.
He saluted Cadfael gaily, as though no encounter could have been more unexpected or more delightful. “Brother Cadfael, you astray on a Sunday morning?”
Very staidly Cadfael rehearsed his errand, and reported its satisfactory results.
“The range of your skills is admirable,” said Beringar, twinkling. “I trust you had an undisturbed sleep after your long working day yesterday?”
“My mind was over-active for a while,” said Cadfael, “but I slept well enough. And thus far you still have a horse to ride, I see.”
“Ah, that! I was at fault, I should have realised that even if the order was issued on a Sunday, they would not move until the sabbath was over. Tomorrow you’ll see for yourself.” Unquestionably he was telling the truth, and certain of his information. “The hunt is likely to be very thorough,” he said, and Cadfael knew he was not talking only of the horses and the provisions. “King Stephen is a little troubled about his relations with the church and its bishops. I ought to have known he would hold back on Sunday. Just as well, it gives us a day’s credit and grace. Tonight we can stay blamelessly at home in all men’s sight, as the innocent should. Eh, Cadfael?” And he laughed, and leaned to clap a hand on Brother Cadfael’s shoulder, and rode on, kicking his ‘heels into his horse’s sides and rousing to a trot towards St Giles.