So that’s how things stand, is it? thought Cadfael. He’s staked his hand that’s it’s to be tonight, and is willing to stand or fall on his wager. Well, since he’s so bold and so shrewd to read my mind, let’s see how good I am at reading his, and I’ll stake just as boldly.
Well, then: Beringar knew from the first that his service with the king was accepted and his horses safe enough, therefore he wanted them removed for some other purpose of his own. And made a fellow-conspirator of me! Why? He could have found a refuge for himself if he’d really needed one. No, he wanted me to know just where the horses were, available and inviting. He knew I had two people to deliver out of this town and out of the king’s hold, and would jump at his offer for my own ends. He offered me the bait of two horses so that I should transfer the treasury to the same place, ready for flight. And finally, he had no need to hunt for his fugitives, he had only to sit back and leave it to me to bring them to the grange as soon as I could, and then he had everything in one spot, ready to be gathered in.
It follows, therefore, that tonight he’ll be waiting for us, and this time with his armed men at his back.
There were still details that baffled the mind, If Beringar had indeed turned a blind eye to Torold’s hiding-place this evening, for what purpose? Granted he did not know at this moment where Godith was, and might choose to let one bird fly in order to secure its mate also. But now that Cadfael came to consider all that had passed there was no escaping the possibility, to put it no higher, that throughout, Beringar had been turning a similarly blind and sparkling eye to Godith’s boyish disguise, and had had a very shrewd idea of where his missing bride was to be found. In that case, if he had known Godric was Godith, and that one of FitzAlan’s men was in hiding in the old mill, then as soon as he had satisfied himself that Cadfael had recovered the treasure for him he could simply have gone in force and gathered in all three prizes, and delivered them to a presumably delighted and grateful king. If he had not done so, but chosen this furtive way, it must mean something different. As, for instance, that his intent was to secure Godith and Torold and duly hand them over for his reward, but despatch FitzAlan’s gold, not back to Shrewsbury, but by his own men, or indeed in person, to his own home manor, for his own private use. In which case the horses had been moved not only to fool a simple old monk, but to transfer the treasure direct to Maesbury in complete secrecy, without having to go near Shrewsbury.
That, of course, was all supposing Beringar was not Nicholas Faintree’s murderer. If he was, the plan differed in one important aspect. He would see to it that though Godith went back to bait the trap for her father, Torold Blund was taken, not alive, but dead. Dead, and therefore silent. A second murder to bury the first.
Altogether a grim prospect, thought Cadfael, surprisingly undisturbed by it. Except, of course, that it could all mean something very different. Could, and does! or my name is not Cadfael, and I’ll never pick a fight with a clever young man again!
He went back to the herbarium, settled in his mind and ready for another restless night. Torold was awake and alert, quick to lift the bolt as soon as he was sure who came.
“Is it time yet? Can we get round to the house on foot?” He was on thorns until he could actually see and touch her, and know that she was safe and free, and had taken no harm.
“There are always ways. But it’s neither dark enough nor quiet enough yet, so sit down and rest while you may, for you’ll have a share of the weight on the way, until we get to the horses. I must go to the dortoir with the rest, and to my bed. Oh, never fret, I’ll be back. Once we’re in our own cells, leaving is no great problem. I’m next to the night-stairs, and the prior sleeps at the far end, and sleeps like the dead. And have you forgotten the church has a parish door, on to the Foregate? The only door not within the walls. From there to Mistress Siward’s house is only a short walk, and if it passes the gate house, do you think the porter takes account of every citizen abroad somewhat late?”
“So this girl Aline could very well have gone to Mass by that door, like the rest of the laity,” Torold realised, marvelling.
“So she could, but then she would have no chance to speak to me, and besides, she chose to exert her privilege with Courcelle, and show the Flemings she was to be reckoned with, the clever girl. Oh, you have a fine girl of your own, young Torold, and I hope you’ll be good to her, but this Aline is only just stretching her powers to find out what she’s worth, and what she can do, and trust me, she’ll make such another as our Godith yet.”
Torold smiled in the warm darkness within the hut, sure even in his anxiety that there was but one Godric-Godith. “You said the porter was hardly likely to pay much attention to citizens making for home late,” he reminded, “but he may very well have a sharp eye for any such in a Benedictine habit.”
“Who said anything about Benedictine habits drifting abroad so late? You, young man, shall go and fetch Godith. The parish door is never closed, and with the gate house so close seldom needs to be. I’ll let you out there when the time comes. Go to the last little house, beside the mill, and bring Godith and the boat down from the pond to where the water flows back into the brook, and I shall be there, waiting.”
“The third house of the three on our side,” whispered Torold, glowing even in the dark. “I know it. I’ll go!” The warmth of his gratitude and pleasure filled the hut, and set the herbal fragrances stirring headily, because it would be he, and no other, who would come to fetch Godith away, more wildly and wonderfully than in any mere runaway marriage. “And you’ll be on the abbey bank, when we come down to the brook?”
“I will so, and go nowhere without me! And now lie down for an hour, or less, and leave the latch in case you sleep too soundly, and I’ll come for you when all’s quiet.”
Brother Cadfael’s plans worked smoothly. The day having been so rough, all men were glad to close the shutters, put out the lights, barricade themselves in from the night, and sleep. Torold was awake and waiting before Cadfael came for him. Through the gardens, through the small court between guest hall and abbot’s lodging, into the cloister, and in through the south door of the church, they went together in such a silence and stillness as belonged neither to night nor day, only to this withdrawn world between services. They never exchanged a word until they were in the church, shoulder to shoulder under the great tower and pressed against the west door. Cadfael eased the huge door ajar, and listened. Peering carefully, he could see the abbey gates, closed and dark, but the wicket gallantly open. it made only a very small lancet of twilight in the night.
“All’s still. Go now! I’ll be at the brook.”
The boy slid through the narrow opening, and swung lightly away from the door into the middle of the roadway, as though coming from the lanes about the horse-fair. Cadfael closed the door inch by inch in silence. Without haste he withdrew as he had come, and strolled under the solitary starlight through the garden and down the field, bearing to the right along the bank of the brook until he could go no further. Then he sat down in the grass and vetches and mothpasture of the bank to wait. The August night was warm and still, just enough breeze to rustle the bushes now and then, and make the trees sigh, and cover with slight sounds the slighter sounds made by careful and experienced men. Not that they would be followed tonight. No need! The one who might have been following was already in position at the end of the journey, and waiting for them.