Chapter Six
“ASK ME WHATEVER YOU WISH,” said Cadfael, shifting to find the least spiky position on the stones of the wall. “And then there are things I have to ask of you.”
“And you’ll tell me honestly what I need to know? Every part of it?” she challenged. Her voice had a child’s directness and high, clear pitch, but a lord’s authority.
“I will.” For she was equal to it, even prepared for it. Who knew this vexing Meriet better?
“How far has he got towards taking vows? What enemies has he made? What sort of fool has he made of himself, with his martyr’s wish? Tell me everything that has happened to him since he went from me.” “From me” was what she said, not “from us”.
Cadfael told her. If he chose his words carefully, yet he made them tell her the truth. She listened with so contained and armed a silence, nodding her head occasionally where she recognised necessity, shaking it where she deprecated folly, smiling suddenly and briefly where she understood, as Cadfael could not yet fully understand, the proceedings of her chosen man. He ended telling her bluntly of the penalty Meriet had brought upon himself, and even, which was a greater temptation to discretion, about the burned tress that was the occasion of his fall. It did not surprise or greatly dismay her, he noted. She thought about it no more than a moment.
“If you but knew the whippings he has brought on himself before! No one will ever break him that way. And your Brother Jerome has burned her lure—that was well done. He won’t be able to fool himself for long, with no bait left him.” She caught, Cadfael thought, his momentary suspicion that he had nothing more to deal with here than women’s jealousy. She turned and grinned at him with open amusement. “Oh, but I saw you meet them! I was watching, though they didn’t know it, and neither did you. Did you find her handsome? Surely you did, so she is. And did she not make herself graceful and pleasing for you? Oh, it was for you, be sure—why should she fish for Nigel, she has him landed, the only fish she truly wants. But she cannot help casting her line. She gave Meriet that lock of hair, of course! She can never quite let go of any man.”
It was so exactly what Cadfael had suspected, since casting eyes on Roswitha, that he was silenced.
“I’m not afraid of her,” said Isouda tolerantly. “I know her too well. He only began to imagine himself loving her because she belonged to Nigel. He must desire whatever Nigel desires, and he must be jealous of whatever Nigel possesses and he has not. And yet, if you’ll trust me, there is no one he loves as he loves Nigel. No one. Not yet!”
“I think,” said Cadfael, “you know far more than I about this boy who troubles my mind and engages my liking. And I wish you would tell me what he does not, everything about this home of his and how he has grown up in it. For he’s in need of your help and mine, and I am willing to be your dealer in this, if you wish him well, for so do I.”
She drew up her knees and wrapped her slender arms around them, and told him. “I am the lady of a manor, left young, and left to my father’s neighbour as his ward, my Uncle Leoric, though he is not my uncle. He is a good man.
I know my manor is as well-run as any in England, and my uncle takes nothing out of it. You must understand, this is a man of the old kind, stark upright. It is not easy to live with him, if you are his and a boy, but I am a girl, and he has been always indulgent and good to me. Madam Avota, who died two years back—well, she was his wife first, and only afterwards Meriet’s mother. You saw Nigel—what more could any man wish for his heir? They never even needed or wished for Meriet. They did all their duty by him when he came, but they could not even see past Nigel to notice the second one. And he was so different.”
She paused to consider the two, and probably had her finger on the very point where they went different ways.
“Do you think,” she asked doubtfully, “that small children know when they are only second-best? I think Meriet knew it early. He was different even to look at, but that was the least part. I think he always went the opposing way, whatever they wished upon him. If his father said white, Meriet said black; wherever they tried to turn him, he dug in his heels hard and wouldn’t budge. He couldn’t help learning, because he was sharp and curious, so he grew lettered, but when he knew they wanted him a clerk, he went after all manner of low company, and flouted his father every way. He’s always been jealous of Nigel,” said the girl, musing against her raised knees, “but always worshipped him. He flouts his father purposely, because he knows he’s loved less, and that grieves him bitterly, and yet he can’t hate Nigel for being loved more. How can he, when he loves him so much?”
“And Nigel repays his affection?” asked Cadfael, recollecting the elder brother’s troubled face.
“Oh, yes, Nigel’s fond of him, too. He always defended him. He’s stood between him and punishment many a time. And he always would keep him with him, whatever they were about, when they all played together.”
They?” said Cadfael. “Not “we”?”
Isouda spat out her chewed stem of late grass, and turned a surprised and smiling face. I’m the youngest, three years behind even Meriet, I was the infant struggling along behind. For a little while, at any rate. There was not much I did not see. You know the rest of us? Those two boys, with six years between them, and the two Lindes, midway between. And me, come rather late and too young. You’ve seen Roswitha. I don’t know if you’ve seen Janyn?”
“I have,” said Cadfael, “on my way here. He directed me.”
“They are twins. Had you guessed that? Though I think he got all the wits that were meant for both. She is only clever one way,” said Isouda judicially, “in binding men to her and keeping them bound. She was waiting for you to turn and look after her, and she would have rewarded you with one quick glance. And now you think I am only a silly girl, jealous of one prettier,” she said disconcertingly, and laughed at seeing him bridle. “I would like to be beautiful, why not? But I don’t envy Roswitha. And after our cross-grained fashion we have all been very close here. Very close! All those years must count for something.”
“It seems to me,” said Cadfael, “that you of all people best know this young man. So tell me, if you can, why did he ever take a fancy for the cloistered life? I know as well as any, now, how he clings to that intent, but for my life I do not see why. Are you any wiser?”
She was not. She shook her head vehemently. “It goes counter to all I know of him.”
“Tell me, then, everything you recall about the time when this resolve was made. And begin,” said Cadfael, “with the visit to Aspley of the bishop’s envoy, this Peter Clemence. You’ll know by now—who does not!—that the man never got to his next night’s lodging, and has not been seen since.”
She turned her head sharply to stare. “And his horse is found, so they’re saying now. Found near the Cheshire border. You don’t think Meriet’s whim has anything to do with that? How could it? And yet. ..” She had a quick and resolute mind, she was already making disquieting connections. “It was the eighth night of September that he slept at Aspley. There was nothing strange, nothing to remark. He came alone, very early in the evening. Uncle Leoric came out to greet him, and I took his cloak indoors and had the maids make ready a bed for him, and Meriet cared for his horse. He always makes easy friends with horses. We made good cheer for the guest. They were keeping it up in hall with music after I went to my bed. And the next morning he broke his fast, and Uncle Leoric and Fremund and two grooms rode with him the first part of his way.”