Thus far Cadfael had deferred his own news in favour of the far more urgent word brought back by these battered survivors from the forests of Leicestershire. Now he thought fit to put in a word. “Father Abbot, I’m back from Longner without much gained, for neither of the young men who brought down the timber has anything of note to tell. But still I feel that one more thing of immense value must have been taken away with that wagon. I see no other way by which Saint Winifred’s reliquary can have left the enclave.”
The abbot gave him a long, penetrating look, and concluded at length: “You are in solemn earnest. And indeed I see the force of what you say. You have spoken now with everyone who took part in that evening’s work?”
“No, Father, there’s yet one more to be seen, a young man from a neighbouring hamlet who came down to help the carters. But them I have seen, and they do say that this third man was called back into the church by one of the brothers, at the end of the evening, for some last purpose, after which the brother came out with him to thank them all, and bid them goodnight. They did not see anything being stowed on the wagon for Ramsey. But they were busy and not paying attention except to their own work. It’s a vague enough notion, that something unauthorized was then loaded under cover of the dark. But I entertain it because I see no other.”
“And you will pursue it?” said the abbot.
“I will go again, and find this young man Aldhelm, if you approve.”
“We must,” said Radulfus. “One of the brothers, you say, called back the young man, and came out afterwards with him. Could they name him?”
“No, nor would they be able to know him again. It was dark, he was cowled against the rain. And most likely, wholly innocent. But I’ll go the last step of the way, and ask the last man.”
“We must do what can be done,” said Radulfus heavily, “to recover what has been lost. If we fail, we fail. But try we must.” And to the two returned travellers: “Precisely where did this ambush take place?”
“Close by a village called Ullesthorpe, a few miles from Leicester,” said Master James of Betton.
The two of them were drooping by then, in reaction from their long and laborious walk home, and sleepy from the wine mulled for them with their supper. Radulfus knew when to close the conference.
“Go to your well-earned rest now, and leave all to God and the saints, who have not turned away their faces from us.”
If Hugh and Prior Robert had not been well mounted, and the elderly but resolute former steward of Ramsey forced to go afoot, they could not have arrived at the cathedral priory of Worcester within a day of each other. Nicol, since the disastrous encounter near Ullesthorpe, had had five days to make his way lamely across country to reach Sub-Prior Herluin and make his report. He was a stouthearted, even an obstinate man, not to be deterred by a few bruises, and not to surrender his charge without a struggle. If pursuit was possible, Nicol intended to demand it of whatever authority held the writ in these parts.
Hugh and Prior Robert had arrived at the priory late in the evening, paid their respects to the prior, attended Vespers to do reverence to the saints of the foundation, Saints Oswald and Wulstan, and taken Herluin and his attendants into their confidence about the loss, or at the very least the misplacement, of Saint Winifred’s reliquary; with a sharp eye, at least on Hugh’s part, for the way the news was received. But he could find no fault with Herluin’s reaction, which displayed natural dismay and concern, but not to excess. Too much exclaiming and protesting would have aroused a degree of doubt as to his sincerity, but Herluin clearly felt that here was nothing worse than some confused stupidity among too many helpers in too much panic and haste, and what was lost would be found as soon as everyone calmed down and halted the hunt for a while to take thought. It was impressive, too, that he instantly stated his intention of returning at once to Shrewsbury, to help to clarify the confusion, though he seemed to be relying on his natural authority and leadership to produce order out of chaos, rather than having anything practical in mind. He himself had nothing to contribute. He had taken no part in the hurried labours within the church, but had held himself aloof with dignity in the abbot’s lodging, which was still high and dry. No, he knew nothing of who had salvaged Saint Winifred. His last sight of her reliquary had been at morning Mass.
Tutilo, awed and mute, shook his head, still in its aureole of unshorn curls, and opened his amber eyes wide at hearing the disturbing news. Given leave to speak, he said he had gone into the church to help, and had simply obeyed such orders as were given to him, and he knew nothing of where the saint’s coffin might be at this moment.
“This must not go by default,” pronounced Herluin at his most majestic. “Tomorrow we will ride back with you to Shrewsbury. She cannot be far. She must be found.”
“After Mass tomorrow,” said Prior Robert, firmly reasserting his own leadership as representing Shrewsbury, “we will set out.”
And so they would have done, but for the coming of Nicol.
Their horses were saddled and waiting, their farewells to the prior and brothers already made, and Hugh just reaching for his bridle, when Nicol came trudging sturdily in at the gatehouse, soiled and bruised and hoisting himself along on a staff he had cut for himself in the forest. Herluin saw him, and uttered a wordless cry, rather of vexation than surprise or alarm, for by this time the steward should have been home in Ramsey, all his booty safely delivered. His unexpected appearance here, whatever its cause, boded no good.
“Nicol!” pronounced Herluin, suppressing his first exasperation, at this or any disruption of his plans. “Man, what are you doing here? Why are you not back in Ramsey? I had thought I could have complete trust in you to get your charge safely home. What has happened? Where have you left the wagon? And your fellows, where are they?”
Nicol drew deep breath, and told him. “Father, we were set upon in woodland, south of Leicester. Five of us, and a dozen of them, with cudgels and daggers, and two archers among them. Horses and wagon were what they wanted, and what they took, for all we could do to stop them. They were on the run, and in haste, or we should all be dead men. They had one at least of their number wounded, and they needed to move fast. They battered us into the bushes, and made off into the forest with the cart and the team and the load, and left us to limp away on foot wherever we would. And that’s the whole tale,” he said, and shut his mouth with a snap, confronting Herluin with the stony stare of an elder provoked and ready to do battle.
The abbey’s wagon gone, a team of horses gone, Longner’s cartload of timber gone, worst of all, Ramsey’s little chest of treasure for the rebuilding, lost to a company of outlaws along the road! Prior Robert drew a hissing breath, Sub-Prior Herluin uttered a howl of bitter deprivation, and began to babble indignation into Nicol’s set face.
“Could you do no better than that? All my work gone to waste! I thought I could rely on you, that Ramsey could rely on you...”
Hugh laid a restraining hand on the sub-prior’s heaving shoulder, and rode somewhat unceremoniously over his lament. “Was any man of yours badly hurt?”
“None past making his way afoot. As I’ve made mine,” said Nicol sturdily, “all these miles, to bring word as soon as I might.”
“And well done,” said Hugh. “God be thanked there was no killing. And where have they headed, since they let you make for here alone?”