“May I have him home to the abbey? I would like to look yet again, and more carefully. I think he lived alone, without family. We shall confer with his own priest at Upton. And this stone...” It was heavy for him, he was glad to set it down for a while. “Bring this with him.”
And all this time the boy had stood close by, wordless himself, but listening to every word spoken around him. The brief dew on his lashes, that had caught the thin early rays of the risen sun, was dry enough now, his mouth was set in a rigid line. When Hugh’s men had lifted Aldhelm’s body on to the litter, and set off down the path with it towards the Foregate, Tutilo fell in behind the sorry little procession like a mourner, and went silently step for step with them, his eyes still upon the shrouded body.
“He’ll not be leaving?” said Hugh in Cadfael’s ear, as they followed.
“He’ll not be leaving. I will see to that. He has a hard master to satisfy, and nowhere else to go.”
“And what do you make of him?”
“I would not presume to assay,” said Cadfael. “He slips through my fingers. But time was when I would have said the same of you,” he added wryly, and took heart at hearing Hugh laugh, if only briefly and softly. “I know! That was mutual. But see how it turned out in the end.”
“He came straight to me with the tale,” said Hugh, reckoning up in a low voice for Cadfael’s ear alone. “He showed very shaken and shocked, but clear of head. He had wasted no time, the body was almost warm as life, only no breath in him, so we let all alone until morning. This lad behaved every way as a man would who had happened unawares on murder. Only, perhaps, better than most would have managed.”
“Which may be the measure of his quality,” said Cadfael firmly, “or of his cunning. As well the one as the other. And who’s to tell?”
“It is not often,” said Hugh with a rueful smile,”that I must listen to you as the devil’s advocate, where a youngster in trouble is concerned. Well, keep him in your custody, and we’ll take time over either condemning or absolving.”
In the mortuary chapel Aldhelm’s body lay on its bier, limbs straightened, body composed, eyes closed, enshrined and indifferent, having told all Cadfael could induce it to tell. Not all the specks of pallor in the shattered brow had proved to be splinters of bone. There were enough fragments of limestone and specklings of dust to prove over again the use to which the stone had been put. A linen cloth was draped over the young man’s face. Across his breast Cadfael and Tutilo confronted each other.
The boy was very pale, and drawn and grey with exhaustion. Cadfael had kept him with him of design, when Hugh departed to report to Abbot Radulfus what had been found and what had been done. Mutely Tutilo had fetched and carried, brought water and cloths, fetched candles and lit them, willingly sustaining the presence of death. Now there was no more to be done, and he was still.
“You do understand,” said Cadfael, meeting the tired eyes, dulled gold even in the candle-light, “why this man was on his way here? You do know what he might, what he said he would, be able to tell, when he saw all the brothers of the Order, here in this house?”
Tutilo’s lips moved, saying almost soundlessly: “Yes, I do know.”
“You know in what manner Saint Winifred’s reliquary was taken away from here. That is known now to all men. You know there was a brother of the Order who so contrived her departure and asked Aldhelm to help him. And that she was meant to reach Ramsey, not to be lost on the way. Do you think justice will look among the brothers of Shrewsbury, from whom she was stolen? Or rather at two from the house that stood to gain? And one in particular?”
Tutilo fronted him with unwavering eyes, but said nothing. “And here lies Aldhelm, who could have given that brother a face and a name, beyond any question. Except that he no longer has a voice with which to speak. And you were away, along the same road, the road to the ferry, to Preston from which he would be coming, to Longner, where you were bound, when he died.”
Tutilo neither affirmed nor denied.
“Son,” said Cadfael, “you know, do you not, what will be said?”
“Yes,” said Tutilo, unlocking his lips at last, “I do know.”
“It will be said and believed that you lay in wait for Aldhelm and killed him, so that he could never point the finger at you.”
Tutilo made no protest that he had been the one to cry murder, to invoke the law, to unloose the hunt after the murderer. He averted his eyes for a moment to Aldhelm’s covered face, and raised them again to meet Cadfael’s eyes squarely. “Except,” he said at last,” that it shall not be said. They shall not be able to say it. For I will go to the lord abbot and Father Herluin, and myself tell what I have done. There shall not need anyone but myself to point the finger at me. For what I have done I will answer, but not for murder which I have not done.”
“Child,” said Cadfael, after a long and thoughtful silence, “do not deceive yourself that even that would still every tongue. There will not be wanting those who will say that you have weighed the odds, knowing yourself already suspect, and of two evils chosen the lesser. Who would not rather own to theft and deception within the Church’s writ, rather than put his neck into the sheriff’s noose for murder? Speak or keep silence, there will be no easy course for you.”
“No matter!” said Tutilo. “If I deserve penance, let it fall on me. Whether I pay or go free, whatever the cost, I will not let it be said I killed a decent man to keep him from accusing me. And if they twist things still to my disgrace in both counts, what more is there I can do? Brother Cadfael, help me to the lord abbot’s presence! If you ask audience for me, he will hear me. Ask if Father Herluin may be present also, now, while the sheriff is there. It cannot wait until chapter tomorrow.”.
He had made up his mind, and all at once was on fire to have it done: and for all Cadfael could see, it was his best course. The truth, if truth could be anticipated from this subtle creature, even in circumstances of desperation, might shed light in more than one direction.
“If that is truly what you want,” he said. “But beware of defending yourself before you are accused. Tell what you have to tell, with no exclaiming, and Abbot Radulfus will listen, that I can promise you.”
He wished he could heartily have said as much for Sub-Prior Herluin. So, perhaps, Tutilo was wishing, too, for suddenly in the midst of his most solemn determination his set mouth twisted into a wry and apprehensive smile, gone in an instant. “Come with me now,” he said.
In the abbot’s parlour Tutilo had a larger audience than Cadfael had bargained for, but welcomed it, or so it seemed, perhaps as leavening further the bleak reception he could expect from Herluin. Hugh was still there, and it was natural enough that Earl Robert should be called into conference as a matter of courtesy where the law of the land and King Stephen’s writ were concerned. Herluin was there at Tutilo’s own request, since there was ultimately no help for it, and Prior Robert was not to be left out where Herluin was admitted. Better far to confront them all, and let them make of it what they would.
“Father Abbot... Father Herluin... my lords...” He took his stand sturdily, folded his hands, and looked round them all in turn, as at a panel of his judges. “I have that to tell you that I should have told before this, since it has to do with the issue that is now in dispute among all here. It is known that the reliquary of Saint Winifred was taken away on the wagon that was loaded with timber for Ramsey, but no one has shown how this came about. This thing was my doing. I avow it. I moved the reliquary from its altar, after it had been swathed well for safety in moving it to a higher place. I put a trimmed log in its place, to be taken up by the stair. And at night I asked one of the young men who was helping us, one who had come with the carters, to help me load the saint on to the wagon, to go to Ramsey to the aid and succour of our misused house. This is all the truth. There was none had any part in it but I. Enquire no further, for I stand here to declare what I have done, and to defend it.”