Monk's Hood Part 11

"We don't know. But everybody's afraid... Brother Petrus is muttering awful things into his ovens, and vowing he'll quit the order. And Jerome is unbearable!"

He turned to glare, so far as his mild, plain face was capable of glaring, at the incubus of whom he spoke, and behold, Brother Jerome had vanished from his mounting-block, and was scurrying head-down for the abbot's lodging.

"Oh, they must be coming! Look-the prior!"

Robert sailed forth from his appropriated lodging, immaculately robed, majestically tall, visible above all the peering heads. His face was composed into otherworldly serenity, benevolence and piety, ready to welcome his old superior with hypocritical reverence, and a.s.sume his office with hypocritical humility; all of which he would do very beautifully, and with n.o.ble dignity.

And in at the gate ambled Heribert, a small, rotund, gentle elderly man of unimpressive appearance, who rode like a sack on his white mule, and had the grime and mud and weariness of the journey upon him. He wore, at sight, the print of demotion and retirement in his face and bearing, yet he looked pleasantly content, like a man who has just laid by a heavy burden, and straightened up to draw breath. Humble by nature, Heribert was uncrushable. His own clerk and grooms followed a respectful few yards behind; but at his elbow rode a tall, spare, sinewy Benedictine with weathered features and shrewd blue eyes, who kept pace with him in close attendance, and eyed him, Cadfael thought, with something of restrained affection. A new brother for the house, perhaps.

Prior Robert sailed through the jostling, whispering brothers like a fair ship through disorderly breakers, and extended both hands to Heribert as soon as his foot touched ground. "Father, you are most heartily welcome home! There is no one here but rejoices to see you back among us, and I trust blessed and confirmed in office, our superior as before."

To do him justice, thought Cadfael critically, it was not often he lied as blatantly as that, and certainly he did not realise even now that he was lying. And to be honest, what could he or any man say in this situation, however covetously he exulted in the promotion he foresaw for himself? You can hardly tell a man to his face that you've been waiting for him to go, and he should have done it long ago.

"Indeed, Robert, I'm happy to be back with you," said Heribert, beaming. "But no, I must inform all here that I am no longer their abbot, only their brother. It has been judged best that another should have charge, and I bow to that judgment, and am come home to serve loyally as a simple brother under you."

"Oh, no!" whispered Brother Mark, dismayed. "Oh, Cadfael, look, he grows taller!"

And indeed it seemed that Robert's silver head was suddenly even loftier, as if by the acquisition of a mitre. But equally suddenly there was another head as lofty as his; the stranger had dismounted at leisure, almost unremarked, and stood at Heribert's side. The ring of thick, straight dark hair round his tonsure was hardly touched with grey, yet he was probably at least as old as Robert, and his intelligent hatchet of a face was just as incisive, if less beautiful.

"Here I present to you all," said Heribert almost fondly, "Father Radulfus, appointed by the legatine council to have rule here in our abbey as from this day. Receive your new abbot and reverence him, as I, Brother Heribert of this house, have already learned to do."

There was a profound hush, and then a great stir and sigh and smile that ran like a quiet wave all through the a.s.sembly in the great court. Brother Mark clutched Cadfael's arm and buried what might otherwise have been a howl of delight in his shoulder. Brother Jerome visibly collapsed, like a p.r.i.c.ked bladder, and turned the identical wrinkled mud-colour. Somewhere at the rear there was a definite crow, like a game-c.o.c.k celebrating a kill, though it was instantly suppressed, and no one could trace its origin. It may well have been Brother Petrus, preparing to rush back into his kitchen and whip all his pots and pans into devoted service for the newcomer who had disjointed Prior Robert's nose in the moment of its most superb elevation.

As for the prior himself, he had not the figure or the bearing to succ.u.mb to deflation like his clerk, nor the kind of complexion that could be said to blench. His reaction was variously reported afterwards. Brother Denis the hospitaller claimed that Robert had rocked back on his heels so alarmingly that it was a wonder he did not fall flat on his back. The porter alleged that he blinked violently, and remained gla.s.sy-eyed for minutes afterwards. The novices, after comparing notes, agreed that if looks could have killed, they would have had a sudden death in their midst, and the victim would not have been the new abbot, but the old, who by so ingenuously acknowledging his future subordination to Robert as prior had led him to believe in his expected promotion to the abbacy, only to shatter the illusion next moment. Brother Mark, very fairly, said that only a momentary marble stillness, and the subsequent violent agitation of the prior's Adam's-apple as he swallowed gall, had betrayed his emotions. Certainly he had been forced to a heroic effort at recovery, for Heribert had proceeded benignly: "And to you, Father Abbot, I make known Brother Robert Pennant, who has been an exemplary support to me as prior, and I am sure will serve you with the same selfless devotion."

"It was beautiful!" said Brother Mark later, in the garden workshop where he had submitted somewhat self-consciously to having his stewardship reviewed, and been relieved and happy at being commended. "But I feel ashamed now. It was wicked of me to feel such pleasure in someone else's downfall."

"Oh, come, now!" said Cadfael absently, busy unpacking his scrip and replacing the jars and bottles he had brought back with him. "Don't reach for the halo too soon. You have plenty of time to enjoy yourself, even a little maliciously sometimes, before you settle down to being a saint. It was beautiful, and almost every soul there rejoiced in it. Let's have no hypocrisy."

Brother Mark let go of his scruples, and had the grace to grin. "But all the same, when Father Heribert could meet him with no malice at all, and such affection..."

"Brother Heribert! And you do yourself less than justice," said Cadfael fondly. "You're still endearingly green, it seems. Did you think all those well-chosen words were hit upon by accident? 'A simple brother under you... ' He could as well have said among you, since he was speaking to us all a moment before. And 'with the same selfless devotion,' indeed! Yes, the very same! And by the look of our new abbot, Robert will be waiting a long, long time before there's another vacancy there."

Brother Mark dangled his legs from the bench by the wall, and gaped in startled consternation. "Do you mean he did it all on purpose?"

"He could have sent one of the grooms a day ahead, couldn't he, if he'd wished to give warning? He could at least have sent one on from St. Giles to break the news gently. And privately! A long-suffering soul, but he took a small revenge today." He was touched by Brother Mark's stricken face. "Don't look so shocked! You'll never get to be a saint if you deny the bit of the devil in you. And think of the benefit he's conferred on Prior Robert's soul!"

"In showing the vanity of ambition?" hazarded Mark doubtfully.

"In teaching him not to count his chickens. There, now be off to the warming-room, and get me all the gossip, and I'll join you in a little while, after I've had a word or two with Hugh Beringar."

"Well, it's over, and as cleanly as we could have hoped," said Beringar, comfortable beside the brazier with a beaker of mulled wine from Cadfael's store in his hand. "Doc.u.mented and done with, and the cost might well have been higher. A very fine woman, by the way, your Richildis, it was a pleasure to hand her boy back to her. I've no doubt he'll be in here after you as soon as he hears you're back, as he soon will, for I'll call at the house on my way into the town."

There had been few direct questions asked, and few but oblique answers. Their conversation was often as devious as their relationship was easy and secure, but they understood each other.

"I hear you lost a horse while you were up on the borders," said Beringar.

"Mea culpa!" owned Cadfael. "I left the stable unlocked."

"About the same time as the Llansilin court lost a man," observed Hugh.

"Well, you're surely not blaming me for that. I found him for them, and then they couldn't keep their hold on him."

"I suppose they'll have the price of the horse out of you, one way or the other?"

"No doubt it will come up at chapter tomorrow. No matter," said Brother Cadfael placidly, "as long as no one here can dun me for the price of the man."

"That can only be charged at another chapter. But it could come high." But Hugh's sharp, dark face behind the quivering vapour from the brazier was smiling. "I've been saving a piece of news for you, Cadfael, my friend. Every few days a new wonder out of Wales! Only yesterday I got word from Chester that a rider who gave no name came into one of the granges of the monastery of Beddgelert, and left there his horse, asking that the brothers would give it stable-room until it could be returned to the Benedictine brothers at the sheepfolds of Rhydycroesau, whence it had been borrowed. They don't yet know of it at Rhydycroesau, for they had their first snow before us, up there in Arfon, and there was no chance of getting a messenger through overland, and I gather is none even yet. But the horse is there, and safe. Whoever the stranger was," said Hugh innocently, "he must have left it there no more than two days after our own vanished malefactor made his confession in Penllyn. The word came by way of Bangor, when they could reach it, and by sea to Chester with one of the coastal boats. So it seems you'll get a shorter penance than you bargained for."

"Beddgelert, eh!" said Cadfael, pondering. "And left there on foot, it seems. Where do you suppose he was bound, Hugh? Clynnog or Caergybi, and oversea to Ireland?"

"Why not into the cells of the clas at Beddgelert?" Hugh suggested, smiling into his wine. "After all your buffeting around the world, you came into a like harbour."

Cadfael stroked his cheeks thoughtfully. "No, not that. Not yet! He would not think he had paid enough for that, yet."

Hugh gave a brisk bait of laughter, set down his cup, and got to his feet, clapping Cadfael heartily on the shoulder. "I'd better be off. Every time I come near you I find myself compounding a felony."

"But it may end like that, some day," said Cadfael seriously.

"In a felony?" Hugh looked back from the doorway, still smiling.

"In a vocation. More than one has gone from the one to the other, Hugh, and been profitable to the world in between."

It was in the afternoon of the following day that Edwy and Edwin presented themselves at the door of the workshop, in their best, very well brushed and trimmed, and both looking slightly shocked into unusually discreet behaviour, at least at first. This subdued demeanour rendered them so alike that Cadfael had to look closely for the brown eyes and the hazel to be certain which of them was which. Their thanks were cheerfully and heartily expressed, their contentment had made total peace between them for the time being.

"This ceremonial finery," said Cadfael, eyeing the pair of them with cautious benevolence, "can hardly be for me."

"The lord abbot sent for me," explained Edwin, his eyes rounding in awe at the recollection. "My mother made me put on my best. He only came with me out of curiosity, he wasn't invited."

"And he fell over his feet in the doorway," Edwy countered promptly, "and blushed red as a cardinal's hat."

"I did not!"

"You did! You're doing it now." And indeed he was; the very suggestion produced the flooding crimson.

"So Abbot Radulfus sent for you," said Cadfael. Clearing up unfinished business, he thought, and briskly, too. "And what did you think of our new abbot?"

Neither of these two was going to own to being impressed. They exchanged a considering glance, and Edwy said: "He was very fair. But I'm not sure I'd want to be a novice here."

"He said," reported Edwin, "that it would be matter for discussion with my mother, and with the lawmen, but clearly the manor can't belong to the abbey, the agreement is void, and if the will is proven, and the earl of Chester confirms his a.s.sent as overlord, Mallilie will be mine, and until I'm of age the abbey will leave a steward there to manage it, and the lord abbot himself will be my guardian."

"And what did you say to that?"

"I thanked him and said yes, very heartily. What else? Who knows better how to run a manor? I can learn all the art from them. And we are to return there, my mother and I, as soon as we wish, and that will be very soon, if we don't get more snows." Edwin's eager brightness, though not dimmed, nevertheless grew very solemn. "Brother Cadfael, it was a terrible thing-about Meurig. Hard to understand...

Yes, for the young very hard, and almost impossible to forgive. But where there had been liking and trust there still remained a residue of unquenchable warmth, incompatible with the revulsion and horror he felt for a poisoner.

"I wouldn't have let him have Mallilie without a fight," said Edwin, dourly intent on absolute honesty. "But if he'd won, I don't think I'd have grudged it to him. And if I'd won... I don't know! He would never have shared it, would he? But I'm glad he got away! If that's wicked, I can't help it. I am glad!"

If it was wicked, he had company in his fault, but Cadfael said nothing of that.

"Brother Cadfael... As soon as we're home again in Mallilie, I mean to go and visit Ifor ap Morgan. He did give me the kiss when I asked him. I can be a kind of grandson."

Thank G.o.d I didn't make the mistake of suggesting it to him, thought Cadfael devoutly. There's nothing the young hate and resent so much as to be urged to a good act, when they've already made the virtuous resolve on their own account.

"That's very well thought of," he said warmly. "He'll be glad of you. If you take Edwy with you to his house, better teach him how to tell you apart, his eyes may not be quite so sharp as mine."

They both grinned at that. Edwy said: "He still owes me for the buffeting I got on his account, and the night I spent in prison here. I mean to have a foot in the door of Mallilie as often as I please on the strength of that."

"I had two nights of it," objected Edwin smartly, "and in a much worse place."

"You? Never a bruise on you, and in clover there with Hugh Beringar looking after you!"

And thereupon Edwin jabbed Edwy smartly in the middle with a stiff forefinger, and Edwy hooked a knee under Edwin's, and spilled him to the floor, both laughing. Cadfael looked on tolerantly for a while, and then grasped two separate handfuls of thick, curling hair, and plucked them apart. They rolled clear and came obligingly to their feet, grinning broadly, and looking much less immaculate than before.

"You are a pestilential pair, and I wish Ifor ap Morgan joy of you," said Cadfael, but very complacently. "You're the lord of a manor now, young Edwin, or will be when you're of age. Then you'd better be studying your responsibilities. Is that the kind of example uncle should set before nephew?"

Edwin stopped shaking and dusting himself into order with abrupt gravity, and stood erect, large-eyed. "I have been thinking of my duties, truly. There's much I don't yet know, and have to learn, but I told the lord abbot... I don't like it, I never liked it, that my stepfather entered suit against Aelfric, and made him villein, when he thought himself born free, as his fathers had been before him. I asked him if I could free a man, or if I had to wait until I was of age, and got seisin myself. And he said certainly it could be done at will, and he would be sponsor for me. I am going to see Aelfric a free man. And I think... that is, he and Aldith..."

"I told him," said Edwy, giving himself a brief shake, like a dog, and settling back at ease on the bench, "that Aldith likes Aelfric, and once he's free they will certainly marry, and Aelfric is lettered, and knows Mallilie, and will make a splendid steward, when the abbey hands over the manor."

"You told me! I knew very well she liked him, only he wouldn't say how much he liked her. And what do you know about manors and stewards, you prentice carpenter?"

"More than you'll ever know about wood, and carving, and craftsmanship, you prentice baron!"

They were at it again, locked in a bear's hug, propped in the corner of the bench, Edwy with a grip on Edwin's russet thatch, Edwin with fingers braced into Edwy's ribs, tickling him into convulsions of laughter. Cadfael hoisted the pair of them in his arms, and heaved them towards the door.

"Out! Take your cantrips off these premises, where they hardly belong. There, go and find a bear-pit!" Even to himself he sounded foolishly proud and proprietary.

At the door they fell apart with bewildering ease and neatness, and both turned to beam at him. Edwin remembered to plead, in penitent haste: "Brother Cadfael, will you please come and see my mother before we leave? She begs you!"

"I will," said Cadfael, helpless to say otherwise, "I will, surely!"

He watched them go, out towards the great court and the gatehouse, again wrangling amiably, arms round each other in ambiguous embrace and a.s.sault. Strange creatures at this age, capable of heroic loyalty and gallantry under pressure, earnest in pursuing serious ends, and reverting to the battle-play of pups from one litter when all was serene in their world.

Cadfael turned back into his workshop, and barred the door against all the rest of the world, even Brother Mark. It was very quiet in there, and very dim with the darkness of the timber walls and the faint blue smoke from the brazier. A home within a home to him now, and all he wanted. It was well over, as Hugh Beringar had said, with no more waste than was inevitable. Edwin would have his manor, Aelfric would have his freedom, a secure future, good ground for loosening his tongue and declaring himself to Aldith; and no doubt, if he proved obstinate about it, she would find the means of prompting him. Brother Rhys would have a long gossip about his kin, and his little flask of the right spirit, and hazy memory would film over the gap left by a lost great-nephew. Ifor ap Morgan would have a grief of his own, never mentioned, but a hope of his own, too, and a subst.i.tute grandchild only a short ride away. And Meurig, somewhere at large in the world, had the long penance before him, and good need of other men's prayers. He would not want for Cadfael's.

He settled himself at ease on the bench where the boys had wrestled and laughed, and put up his feet comfortably. He wondered if he could legitimately plead that he was still confined within the enclave until Richildis left for Mallilie, and decided that that would be cowardly only after he had decided that in any case he had no intention of doing it.

She was, after all, a very attractive woman, even now, and her grat.i.tude would be a very pleasant indulgence; there was even a decided lure in the thought of a conversation that must inevitably begin to have: "Do you remember...?" as its constant refrain. Yes, he would go. It was not often he was able to enjoy an orgy of shared remembrances.

In a week or two, after all, the entire household would be removing to Mallilie, all those safe miles away. He was not likely to see much of Richildis after that. Brother Cadfael heaved a deep sigh that might have been of regret, but might equally well have been of relief.

Ah, well! Perhaps it was all for the best!

About the Author.

ELLIS PETERS is the nom-de-crime of English novelist Edith Pargeter, author of scores of books under her own name. She is the recipient of the Silver Dagger Award, conferred by the Crime Writers a.s.sociation in Britain, as well as the coveted Edgar, awarded by the Mystery Writers of America. Miss Pargeter is also well known as a translator of poetry and prose from the Czech and has been awarded the Gold Medal and Ribbon of the Czechoslovak Society for Foreign Relations for her services to Czech literature. She pa.s.sed away in 1995, at the age of 82, at home in her beloved Shropshire.