“Yet we are told a tree shall be known by its fruit,” remarked the abbot drily. “Divine grace, I think, will know where to look for a responsive human grace, without instruction from us. Go on, Master Girard. I believe you have a proposal to make.”
“I have, Father. At the least it is now known that my clerk’s death happened through no fault of Elave, who never coveted his place or tried to oust him, nor did him any harm. Yet there is the place vacant now, nonetheless. And I, who have known Elave and trusted him, say that I am prepared to take him back in Aldwin’s place, and advance him in my business. If you will release him into my charge, I make myself his guarantor that he shall not leave Shrewsbury. I engage that he shall remain in my house, and be available whenever your lordships shall require him to attend, until his case is heard and justly judged.”
“And regardless,” asked Radulfus mildly, “of what the verdict may be?”
“My lord, if the judging is just, so will the verdict be. And after that day he will need no guarantor.”
“It is presumptuous,” Gerbert said coldly, “to be so certain of your own rightness.”
“I speak as I have found. And I know as well as any man that in the heat of argument or ale, words can be spoken beyond what was ever meant, but I do not think God would condemn a man for folly, not beyond the consequences of folly, which can be punishment enough.”
Radulfus was smiling behind his austere mask, though only those who had grown close and familiar with him would have known it. “Well, I appreciate the kindliness of your intentions,” he said. “Have you anything more to add?”
“Only this voice to add to mine, Father. Here in this casket are five hundred and seventy silver pence, the dowry sent by my uncle for the girl-child he took as his daughter. As Elave took great pains to deliver it to her safely, so Fortunata desires, in reverence to William who sent it, to use it now for Elave’s deliverance from prison. Here she offers it in bail for him, and I will guarantee that when the time comes he shall answer to it.”
“Is this indeed your own wish, child?” asked the abbot, studying Fortunata’s demure and wary calm with interest. “No one has persuaded you to this offer?”
“No one, Father,” she said firmly. “The thought was mine.”
“And you do know,” he insisted gently, “that all those who go bail for another do take the risk of loss?”
She raised her ivory eyelids, lofty and smooth, for one brief and brilliant flash of hazel eyes. “Not all, Father,” she said, uttering defiance in the soft, discreet voice of daughterly submission. And to Cadfael, watching, it was plain that Radulfus, even if he kept his formidable countenance, was not displeased.
“You may not know, Father,” explained Girard considerately, and even somewhat complacently, “that women stake only on certainties. Well, that is what I propose, and I promise you I will fulfill my part of it, if you agree to release him into my custody. At any time you may be assured you will find him at my house. I am told he would not run from you when he was loose before, and he certainly will not this time, when Fortunata stands to lose by him. As you suppose,” he added generously, “for I am in no doubt.”
Radulfus had Canon Gerbert on his right hand, and Prior Robert on his left, and knew himself between two monuments of orthodoxy in more than doctrine. The precise letter of canon law was sacred to Robert, and the influence of an archbishop, distilled through his confidential envoy, hung close and convincing at his elbow, stiffening a mind already disposed to rigidity. As between his abbot and Theobald’s vicarious presence Robert might be torn, and would certainly endeavor to remain compatible with both, but in extremes he would go with Gerbert. Cadfael, watching him manipulating inward argument, with devoutly folded hands, arched silver brows, and tightly pursed mouth, could almost find the words in which he would endorse whatever Gerbert said, while subtly refraining from actually echoing it. And if he knew his man, so did the abbot. As for Gerbert himself, Cadfael had a sudden startling insight into a mind utterly alien to his own. For the man really had, somewhere in Europe, glimpsed yawning chaos and been afraid, seen the subtleties of the devil working through the mouths of men, and the fragmentation of Christendom in the eruption of loud-voiced prophets bursting out of limbo like bubbles in the scum of a boiling pot, and the dispersion into the wilderness in the malignant excesses of their deluded followers. There was nothing false in the horror with which Gerbert looked upon the threat of heresy, though how he could find it in an open soul like Elave remained incomprehensible.
Nor could the abbot afford to oppose the archbishop’s representative, however true it might be that Theobald probably held a more balanced and temperate opinion of those who felt compelled to reason about faith than did Gerbert. A threat that troubled Pope, cardinals, and bishops abroad, however nebulous it might feel here, must be taken seriously. There is much to be said for being an island off the main. Invasions, curses, and plagues are slower to reach one, and arrive so weakened as to be almost exhausted beforehand. Yet even distance may not always be a perfect defense.
“You have heard,” said Radulfus, “an offer which is generous, and comes from one whose good faith may be taken for granted. We need only debate what is right for us to do in response. I have only one reservation. If this concerned only my monastic household, I should have none. Let me hear your view, Canon Gerbert.”
There was no help for it, he would certainly be expressing it very forcibly, as well compel him to speak first, so that his rigors could at least be moderated afterward.
“In a matter of such gravity,” said Gerbert, “I am absolutely against any relaxation. It is true, and I acknowledge it, that the accused has been at liberty once, and returned as he was pledged to do. But that experience may itself cause him to do otherwise if the chance is repeated. I say we have no right to take any risk with a prisoner accused of such a perilous crime. I tell you, the threat to Christendom is not understood here, or there would be no dispute, none! He must remain under lock and key until the cause is fully heard.”
“Robert?”
“I cannot but agree,” said the prior, looking studiously down his long nose. “It is too serious a charge to take even the least risk of flight. Moreover, the time is not wasted while he remains in our custody. Brother Anselm has been providing him with books, for the better instruction of his mind. If we keep him, the good seed may yet fall on ground not utterly barren.”
“True,” said Brother Anselm without detectable irony, “he reads, and he thinks about what he reads. He brought back more than silver pence from the Holy Land. An intelligent man’s baggage on such a journey must be light, but in his mind he can accumulate a world.” Wisely and ambiguously he halted there, before Canon Gerbert should wind his slower way through this speech to understanding, and spy an infinitesimal note of heresy in it. It is not wise to tease a man with no humor in him.
“It seems I should be outvoted if I came down on the side of release,” said the abbot drily, “but it so chances that I, too, am for continuing to hold the young man here in the enclave. This house is my domain, but jurisdiction has already passed out of my hands. We have sent word to the bishop, and expect to hear his will very soon. Therefore the judgment is now with him, and our part is simply to ensure that we hand over the accused to him, or to his representatives, as soon as he makes his will known. I am now no more in this matter than the bishop’s agent. I am sorry, Master Girard, but that must be my answer. I cannot take you as bail, I cannot give you custody of Elave. I can promise you that he shall come to no harm here in my house. Nor suffer any further violence,” he added with intent, if without emphasis.