Cadfael would have thought so, too. But if she’d caught sight of the prior as she waited, or Anselm, or Denis, she might very well have accosted one of them with her petition. Cadfael sought out Denis, whose duties kept him most of the time around the court, and within sight of the gate, but Denis had seen nothing of Fortunata. She was acquainted now with Anselm’s little kingdom in the north walk; she might have made her way there, seeking for someone she knew. But Anselm shook his head decidedly, no, she had not been there. Not only was she not to be found within the precinct now, but it seemed she had not set foot in it all that day.
The bell for Vespers found Cadfael hovering irresolute over what he ought to do, and reminded him sternly of his obligations to the vocation he had accepted of his own free will, and sometimes reproached himself for neglecting. There are more ways of approaching a problem than by belligerent action. The mind and the will have also something to say in the unending combat. Cadfael turned towards the south porch and joined the procession of his brothers into the dim, cool cavern of the choir, and prayed fervently for Aldwin, dead and buried in his piteous human imperfection, and for William of Lythwood, come home contented and shriven to rest in his own place, and for all those trammeled and tormented by suspicion and doubt and fear, the guilty as well as the innocent, for who needs succor more? Whether he was building a fantastic folly round a book which might not even exist, or confronting a serious peril for any who blundered on too much knowledge, one crime was hard and clear as black crystaclass="underline" someone had taken the sad, inoffensive life of Aldwin the clerk, of whom the one man he had injured had said honestly: “Everything he has said that I said, I did say.” But someone else, to whom he had done nothing, had slipped a dagger very deftly between his ribs from behind and killed him.
Cadfael emerged from Vespers consoled, but not the less aware of his own responsibilities. It was still full daylight, but with the slanting evening radiance about it, and the stillness of the air that seemed to dim all colors into a diaphanous pearly sheen. There remained one enquiry he could still make, before going further. It was just possible that Fortunata, grown dubious of venturing to ask admittance to Elave so soon after a first visit, had simply asked someone at the gate, in the porter’s brief absence, to carry a message to the prisoner, nothing to which any man could raise objection, merely to remind him his friends thought of him, and begged him to keep up his courage. It might not mean anything that Cadfael had not encountered her on her way home; she might already have been back in the town, and used the time to some other purpose before returning home. At least he would have a word with the boy, and satisfy himself he was not anxious to no purpose.
He took the key from where it hung in the porch, and went to let himself into the cell. Elave swung round from his little desk, and turned a frowning face because he had been narrowing his eyes and knitting his brows in the dimming light over one of Augustine’s more humane and ecstatic sermons. The apparent cloud cleared as soon as he left poring over the cramped minuscule of the text. Other people feared for him, but it seemed to Cadfael that Elave himself was quite free from fear, and had not shown even as restive in his close confinement.
“There’s something of the monk in you,” said Cadfael, speaking his thought aloud. “You may end up under a cowl yet.”
“Never!” said Elave fervently, and laughed aloud at the notion.
“Well, perhaps it would be a waste, seeing what other ideas you have for the future. But you have the mind for it. Traveling the world or penned in a stone cell, neither of them upsets your balance. So much the better for you! Has anyone thought to tell you that the bishop’s come? In person! He pays you a compliment, for Coventry’s nearer the turmoil than we are here, and he needs to keep a close eye on his church there, so time given to your case is a mark of your importance. And it may be a short time, for he looks like a man who can make up his mind briskly.”
“I heard the to-do about someone arriving,” said Elave. “I heard the horses on the cobbles. But I didn’t know who it might be. Then he’ll be wanting me soon?” At Cadfael’s questioning glance he smiled, though seriously enough. “I’m ready. I want it, too. I’ve made good use of my time here. I’ve found that even this Augustine went through many changes of mind over the years. You could take some of his early writings, and they say the very opposite of what he said in old age. That, and a dozen changes between. Cadfael, did you ever think what a waste it would be if you burned a man for what he believed at twenty, when what he might believe and write at forty would be hailed as the most blessed of holy writ?”
“That is the kind of argument to which the most of men never listen,” said Cadfael. “Otherwise they would balk at taking any life. You haven’t been visited today, have you?”
“Only by Anselm. Why?”
“Nor had any message from Fortunata?”
“No. Why?” repeated Elave with sharper urgency, seeing Cadfael frown. “All’s well with her, I trust?”
“So I trust also,” agreed Cadfael, “and so it should be. She told her family she was coming down to the abbey to ask if she could see you again, or get word of any progress in your case, that’s why I asked. But no one has seen her. She hasn’t been here.”
“And that troubles you,” said Elave sharply. “Why should it matter? What is it you have in mind? Is there some threat to her? Are you afraid for her?”
“Let’s say I should be glad to know that she’s safe at home. As surely she must be. Afraid, no! But you must remember there is a murderer loose among us, and close to that household, and I would rather she kept to home and safe company than go anywhere alone. But as for today, I left Hugh Beringar keeping a close watch on the house and all who stir in and out of it, so set your mind at rest.”
They had neither of them been paying any attention to the passing sounds without, the brief ring of hooves distant across the court, the rapid exchange of voices, short and low, and then the light feet coming at an impetuous walk. It startled them both when the door of the cell was flung open before a gust of evening air and the abrupt entry of Hugh Beringar.
“They told me I should find you here,” he said, high and breathless with haste. “They say the girl is not here, and has not been since yesterday. Is that true?”
“She has not come home?” said Cadfael, aghast.
“Nor she nor the other. The dame’s beginning to be anxious. I thought best to come down and fetch the girl home myself if she was still here, but now I find she has not been here, and I know she is not at home, for I’m fresh come from there. So long away, and not where she said she’d be!”
Elave clutched at Cadfael’s arm, shaking him vehemently in his bewilderment and alarm. “The other? What other? What is happening? Are you saying she may be in danger?”
Cadfael fended him off with a restraining arm, and demanded of Hugh: “Have you sent to the workshop?”
“Not yet! She might have been here, and safe enough. Now I’m going there myself. Come with me! I’ll see you excused to Father Abbot afterward.”
“I will well!” said Cadfael fervently, and was starting for the door, but Elave hung upon him desperately, and could not be shaken off.
“You shall tell me! What other? What man? Who is it threatens her? The workshop whose?” And on the instant he knew, and moaned the name aloud: “Jevan! The book - you believe in it. You think it was he?” He was on his feet, hurling himself at the open doorway, but Hugh stood solidly in his way, braced between the jambs.