“If she comes to her father a virgin,” said Beringar then, “I’ll never stake on man or woman again.”
“It’s my belief,” said Cadfael, drily, “she’ll come to her father a wife, and very proper, too. There are plenty of priests between here and Normandy. She’ll have more trouble persuading Torold he has the right to take her, unapproved, but she’ll have her own ways of convincing him.”
“You know her better than I,” said Beringar. “I hardly knew the girl at all! A pity!” he added thoughtfully.
“Yet I think you recognised her the first time you ever saw her with me in the great court.”
“Oh, by sight, yes — I was not sure then, but within a couple of days I was. She’s not so changed in looks, only fined into such a springy young fellow.” He caught Cadfael’s eye, and smiled. “Yes, I did come looking for her, but not to hand her over to any man’s use. Nor that I wanted her for myself, but she was, as you said, a sacred charge upon me. I owed it to the alliance others made for us to see her into safety.”
“I trust,” said Cadfael, “that you have done so.”
“I, too. And no hard feelings upon either side?”
“None. And no revenges. The game is over.” He sounded, he realised suddenly, appropriately subdued and resigned, but it was only the pleasant weariness of relief.
“Then you’ll ride back with me to the abbey, and keep me company on the way? I have two horses here. And these lads of mine have earned their sleep, and if your good brothers will give them house-room overnight, and feed them, they may make their way back at leisure tomorrow. To sweeten their welcome, there’s two flasks of wine in my saddlebags, and a pasty. I feared we might have a longer wait, though I was sure you’d come.”
“I had a feeling,” said Brother Louis, rubbing his hands with satisfaction, “for all the sudden alarm, that there was no real mischief in the wind tonight. And for two flasks of wine and a pasty we’ll offer you beds with pleasure, and a game of tables if you’ve a mind for it. We get very little company here.”
One of the archers led in from the night Beringar’s two remaining horses, the tail, rangy dapple-grey and the sturdy brown cob, and placidly lay brothers and men-at-arms together unloaded the food and drink, and at Beringar’s orders made the unwieldy, sacking-wrapped bundle secure on the dapple’s croup, well balanced and fastened with Brother Anselm’s leather straps, provided with quite another end in view. “Not that I wouldn’t trust it with you on the cob,” Beringar assured Cadfael, “but this great brute will never even notice the weight. And his rider needs a hard hand, for he has a hard mouth and a contrary will, and I’m used to him. To tell truth, I love him. I parted with two better worth keeping, but this hellion is my match, and I wouldn’t change him.”
He could not better have expressed what Cadfael was thinking about him. This hellion is my match, and I wouldn’t change him! He did his own spying, he gave away generously two valuable horses to discharge his debt to a bride he never really wanted, and he went to all manner of patient, devious shifts to get the girl safe and well out of his path, and lay hand upon the treasury, which was fair game, as she was not. Well, well, we live and learn in the book of our fellowmen!
They rode together, they two alone, by the same road as once before, and even more companionably than then. They went without haste, unwinding the longer way back, the way fitter for horses, the way they had first approached the grange. The night was warm, still and gentle, defying the stormy and ungentle times with its calm assertion of permanent stability.
“I am afraid,” said Hugh Beringar with compunction, “you have missed Matins and Lauds, and the fault is mine. If I had not delayed everything, you might have been back for midnight. You and I should share whatever penance is due.”
“You and I,” said Cadfael cryptically, “share a penance already. Well, I could not wish for more stimulating company. We many compound my offence by riding at ease. It is not often a man gets such a night ride, and safely, and at peace.”
Then they were silent for some way, and thought their own thoughts, but somewhere the threads tangled, for after a while Beringar said with assurance: “You will miss her.” It was said with brisk but genuine sympathy. He had, after all, been observing and learning for some days.
“Like a fibre gone from my heart,” owned Brother Cadfael without dismay, “but there’ll be others will fill the place. She was a good girl, and a good lad, too, if you’ll grant me the fancy. Quick to study, and a hard worker. I hope she’ll make as good a wife. The young man’s a fair match for her. You saw he favoured one shoulder? One of the king’s archers did his best to slice the round of it off him, but with Godith’s care now he’ll do well enough. They’ll reach France.” And after a moment’s thought he asked, with candid curiosity: “What would you have done if any one of us had challenged your orders and made a fight of it?”
Hugh Beringar laughed aloud. “I fancy I should have looked the world’s fool, for of course my men knew better than to shoot. But the bow is a mighty powerful persuader, and after all, an unchancy fellow like me might be in earnest. Why, you never thought I’d harm the girl?”
Cadfael debated the wisdom of answering that truthfully as yet, and temporised: “if I ever thought of it, I soon realised I was wrong. They could have killed before ever Torold stepped between. No, I soon gave up that error.”
“And it does not surprise you that I knew what you had brought to the grange, and what you came to fetch tonight?”
“No revelation of your cunning can surprise me any longer,” said Cadfael. “I conclude that you followed me from the river the night I brought it. Also that you had procured me to help you place the horses there for a dual purpose, to encourage me to transfer the treasure from wherever it was hidden, and to make it possible for those youngsters to escape, while the gold stayed here. The right hand duelling against the left, that fits you well. Why were you so sure it would be tonight?”
“Faith, if I’d been in your shoes I would have got them away with all the haste I could, at this favourable time, when search had been made and failed. You would have had to be a fool to let the chance slip. And as I have found long ago, you are no fool, Brother Cadfael.”
“We have much in common,” agreed Cadfael gravely. “But once you knew that lump you’re carrying there was safe in the grange, why did you not simply remove it, and make sure of it? You could still have let the children depart without it, just as they’ve done now.”
“And sleep in my bed while they rode away? And never make my peace with Godith, but let her go into France believing me her enemy, and capable of such meanness? No, that I could not stomach. I have my vanity. I wanted a clean end, and no grudges. I have my curiosity, too. I wanted to see this young fellow who had taken her fancy. The treasure was safe enough until you chose to get them away, why should I be uneasy about it? And this way was far more satisfying.”
“That,” agreed Cadfael emphatically, “it certainly was.” They were at the edge of the forest, and the open road at Sutton, and were turning north towards St Giles, all in amicable ease, which seemed to surprise neither of them.