And still she did not go, but hovered, touching with long fingers along his shelves of vessels, reaching up to rustle the hanging bunches of herbs overhead, keeping only her profile towards him. There was more she wanted to know, but hesitated how to ask, or better, how to find out what she needed without asking.
“They will feed him, will they not? You cannot starve a man. Who will look after him? Is it you?”
“No,” said Cadfael patiently. The porters will take him his food. But I can visit him. Can, and will. Girl, if you wish him well, leave him where he is.”
“Small choice I have!” said Daalny bitterly. Not, however, quite bitterly enough, Cadfael thought. Rather to present the appearance of resignation than to accept it. She was beginning to have dreams of her own and hers would proceed to action. She had only to watch the porter’s moves next day to learn the times when he visited his charge, and espy where the two keys of the penal cells hung side by side in the gatehouse. And Wales was not far, and in any princely llys in that country, great or small, such a voice as Tutilo’s, such a deft hand on strings, would easily find shelter. But to go with the slur of murder still upon him, and always the threat of pursuit and capture? No, better far sit it out here and shame the devil. For Cadfael was certain that Tutilo had never done violence to any man, and must not be marked with that obloquy for life.
Still Daalny lingered, as if minded to say or ask something more, her thin oval face sharply alert and her eyes half-veiled but very bright within the long dark lashes. Then she turned and departed very quietly. From the threshold she said: “Goodnight, Brother!” without turning her head, and closed the door behind her.
He gave little thought to it then, reasoning that she was not in such grave earnest that she would actually attempt to turn her indignant dream into action. But he did reconsider next day, when he saw her watching the passage of the porter from the refectory before noon, and following him with her eyes as he turned in between infirmary and schoolroom, where the two small stony cells were built into the angle of the wall, close to the wicket that led through to the mill and the pond. When he was out of sight she crossed the great court to the gatehouse, passed by the open door apparently without a glance, and stood for some minutes in the gateway, looking along the Foregate, before turning back towards the guesthouse. The board that held the keys in the porter’s charge hung just within the doorway, and she had sharp enough eyes to pick out the nail that was empty, and the fellow to the absent key close beside it. Alike in size and general appearance, but not in the guards that operated them.
And even this unobtrusive surveillance might be only a part of her fantasy. She might never try to turn it into reality. All the same, Cadfael had a word with the porter before evening. She would not move until dusk or even darkness; no need to observe the passage of Tutilo’s supper, she knew now which key she needed. All that was necessary was for the porter to replace it on the wrong nail before going to Compline, and leave her its ineffective twin.
He did not keep a watch on her; there was no necessity, and in his own mind he was almost convinced that nothing would happen. Her own position was so vulnerable that she would not venture. So the day passed normally, with the usual ritual of work and reading, study and prayer punctuated by the regular round of the hours. Cadfael went about his work all the more assiduously because a part of his mind was elsewhere, and he felt its absence as guilt, even though his concern was with a serious matter of justice, guilt and innocence. Tutilo must somehow be extricated from such opprobrium as he had not earned, no matter what penalties he might deserve for his real offences. Here in the enclave, imprisonment was also safety from any secular threat; the Church would look after its own, even its delinquents. Once outside, unless cleared of all suspicion, he would be a fugitive, liable to all the rigours of the law, and the very act of flight would be evidence against him. No, here he must remain until he could come forth vindicated.
It was almost time for Compline when Cadfael came from the gardens after his last round of the evening, and saw horsemen riding in at the gate. Sulien Blount, on a piebald gelding, leading a brown cob on a rein, saddled ready for riding, and after him two grooms in attendance. At this hour, in twilight, an unexpected invasion. Cadfael went to meet them as Sulien lighted down to speak hurriedly to the porter. Only some matter of great urgency could have brought messengers from Longner so late.
“Sulien, what is it? What brings you here at this hour?”
Sulien swung round to him gratefully. “Cadfael, I have a request to make of the abbot. Or we may need the good word of this sub-prior from Ramsey, no less... My mother asks for that young musician of his, Tutilo, the one who has played and sung to her before, and helped her to sleep. She took kindly to him, and he to her. This time it will be a long sleep, Cadfael. She can’t last the night through. And there’s something she wants and needs to do... I have not questioned. Neither would you, if you could see her...”
“The lad you want is under lock and key,” said Cadfael, dismayed. “He’s under suspicion of felonies since the lady sent for him, two nights ago. Is she so near her end? The abbot can scarcely let him out to her except with guarantees for his return.”
“I know it,” said Sulien. “Hugh Beringar has been with us, I know how things stand. But under escort... You see we’ll keep good hold of him, and bring him back to you bound, if need be. At least ask! Tell Radulfus it is her last request of him. Death’s mercy has held off all too long, but now I swear to you this is ending. He knows all her story, he’ll listen!”
“Wait,” said Cadfael, “and I will go and ask.”
“But, Cadfael... two nights ago? No, we never sent for him two nights ago.”
Well, there was no great surprise there. The possibility had been at the back of Cadfael’s mind for some time. No, it had been too apt, too opportune. He had found out what awaited him, and removed himself from the scene long enough, he had hoped, to escape the judgement. It made no difference now. “No, no matter, that’s understood,” he said. “Wait here for me!”
Abbot Radulfus was alone in his panelled parlour. He listened to this late embassage with drawn brows, and eyes looking inward. And having heard, he said sombrely: “It is high time for her. How can she be denied? You say they have guards enough to keep him safe? Yes, let him go, “
“And Father Herluin? Should I ask his leave also?”
“No. Tutilo is within my walls and in my charge. I give him leave. Go yourself, Cadfael, and release him to them. If time is so short for her, waste none of it.”
Cadfael returned in haste to the gatehouse. “He will come. We have the abbot’s leave. Wait, and I’ll bring the boy.”
It scarcely surprised him to find, when he plucked the key from its nail in the gatehouse, that the nail beside it was also vacant. Everything was happening now with a distant, dreamlike certainty. Daalny had acted, after all; she must have taken the second key during Vespers, from the nail where at noon she had watched the porter hang the first one, but she had had to wait for near-darkness before using it. Now would be her favoured time, now when the brothers would be gathering in the church for Compline. Cadfael left the messengers from Longner waiting uneasily within the gate, and went hurrying round the corner of the schoolroom to the penitential cells beyond, where deeper shadows were already filling the narrow passage to the wicket in the enclave wall, and the mill and the pool beyond.