The Sanctuary Sparrow Part 12

"I had rather," said Cadfael sadly, "there should be no killing at all."

"So would I," agreed Hugh grimly, "but if there must be, rather the guilty than the innocent."

The dawn was still more than an hour and a half away when they brought the rope Liliwin needed, but already the eastern sky had changed, turned from deepest blue to paler blue-green, and a faint line of green paler still outlined the curves of the fields behind them, and the towered hill of the town.

"Rather round my waist than my neck," whispered Liliwin hardily, as Cadfael fastened the rope about him among the bushes.

"There, I see you have the true spirit in you. G.o.d keep you, the pair of you! But can she come down the rope, even if you reach her? Girls are not such acrobats as you."

"I can guide her. She's so light and small, she can hold by the rope and walk backwards down the wall... Only keep them busy there at the far end."

"But go slowly and quietly, no haste," cautioned Cadfael, anxious as for a son going into battle. "I shall be running messenger between. And daylight will be on our side, not on theirs."

Liliwin kicked off his shoes. He had holes in the toes of both feet of his hose, Cadfael saw. Perhaps none the worse for this enterprise, but when he came to be sent out into the world-G.o.d so willing, as surely G.o.d must-he must go better provided.

The boy slid silently down from the headland to the foot of the stable wall, felt with stretched arms above his head, found grips a heavier man would never have considered, set a toe to a first hold, and drew himself up like a squirrel on to the timbers.

Cadfael waited and watched until he had seen the rope slipped through the firmest boards of the lattice and made fast, and the first rotten slat prised free, slowly and carefully, and let fall silently at arm's-length into the thick gra.s.s below. More than half an hour had pa.s.sed by then. From time to time he caught the sound of voices in weary but alert exchanges to eastward. The criss-cross of boards at the air-vent showed perceptibly now. The removal of one board had uncovered a s.p.a.ce big enough to let a cat in and out, but surely nothing larger or less agile. The vault of the sky lightened very gradually before there was any visible source of light.

Liliwin worked with a bight of the tethered rope fast round him, and half-naked toes braced into the timbers of the wall. He had begun patiently prising loose the second slat, when Cadfael made his way back in cover to report what he knew.

"G.o.d knows it looks impossible, but the lad knows his business, and if he is sure he can pa.s.s, as a cat knows by its whiskers, then I take his word for it. But for G.o.d's sake keep this parley alive."

"Take it over for me," said Hugh, drawing back with eyes still fixed on the hatch. "Only some few moments... A fresh voice causes them to p.r.i.c.k their ears afresh."

Cadfael took up the vain pleas he had used before. The voice that answered him was hoa.r.s.e with weariness, but still defiant.

"We shall not go from here," said Cadfael, roused out of his own weariness by a double anxiety, "until all these troubled here, body and soul, have freedom and quiet, whether in this world or another. And who so prevents to the last, on him the judgement fall! Nevertheless, G.o.d's mercy is infinite to those who seek it, However late, however feebly."

"The light will not be long," Hugh was saying at that same moment to Alcher, who was the finest marksman in the castle garrison, and had long since chosen his ground with the dawn in view, and found no reason to change it. "Be ready, the instant I shall call, to put an arrow clean into that hatch, and through whoever lurks there. But no shooting unless I do call. And pray G.o.d I am not forced to it."

"That's understood," said Alcher, nursing his strung bow and fitted shaft, and never shifting his eyes from their aim, dead-centre of the dark opening, now growing clearly visible above the stable doors.

When Cadfael again made his way along the headland, the lattice was a lattice no longer, but a small square opening under the eaves, and the dislodged slats lay cushioned in the thick gra.s.s below. Liliwin had one arm stretched within, to ease aside the hay cautiously, with as little sound as possible, and make room to creep within. Now if only Rannilt could keep from starting or crying out when she found herself approached thus from behind! It was high time to make as much and as menacing ado before the stable doors as possible. Yet Cadfael could not help standing with held breath to watch, until Liliwin slid head and shoulders through the s.p.a.ce that seemed barely pa.s.sable even for his slenderness, and drew the rest of himself after in one coiling, rapid movement, vanishing in a smooth somersault, and without a sound.

Cadfael made his way back in haste to a point still out of sight from the hatch, and signalled urgently to Hugh that the time of greatest danger was come. Alcher saw the waving arm before Hugh did, and drew his bow halfway to the ear, narrowing his eyes upon the moving blurs of drab brown coat and paler face that showed as his target. Behind him the sun was just showing a rim over the horizon, and its first ray gleamed along the ridge of the roof. In a quarter of an hour it would be high enough for the light to reach the hatch, and the shot would be an easy matter.

"Iestyn," called Hugh sharply, mustering those of his men nearest him into plain sight, though not too near to the doors, "you have had a night's grace to consider, now show decent sense, and come forth of your own will, for you see you cannot escape us, and you are mortal like others, and must eat to live. You are not in sanctuary there, there are no forty days of respite for you."

"There's nothing but a halter for us," shouted Iestyn savagely, "and well we know it. But if that's our end, I swear to you the girl shall go before us, and her blood be on your head."

"So you say, big talk from a small man! Your woman may not be so ready either to kill or to die. Have you asked her? Or have you the only voice in the matter? Here, master goldsmith," called Hugh, beckoning, "come and speak to your daughter. However late in the day, she may still listen to you."

He was bidding to sting her, to bring them both flying to the hatch to spit their joint defiance and leave their prisoner unwatched. But oh, not too fast, not too fast, prayed Cadfael, gnawing his knuckles on the headland. The boy needs a few more minutes yet...

Liliwin tunnelled stealthily through the stored hay, as much in terror of sneezing, as the odorous dust tickled his nostrils, as he was of making too audible a rustling and betraying himself all too soon. Somewhere before him, very close now, he could hear the faint stirrings Rannilt made in her nest, and prayed that they would cover whatever sound he was making. After a while, pausing to peer through the thinning screen, he caught the shape of her shrinking shoulders and head against the dim morning light. Carefully he enlarged the pa.s.sage he had hollowed out, so that he might have room to draw to one side of her, and have her creep past him, to come first to the frame of the lattice. Iestyn was leaning out at the far end of the loft, shouting angry curses now at those without, threatening still but not looking this way.

There was a woman to fear, for wherever she was now, she was silent. But surely if those without were pressing, half at least of her care must be with her lover. And here in the loft it was still blessedly dark.

His hand, probing delicately ahead, found and touched Rannilt's bare forearm. She flinched sharply, but made no sound at all, and in a moment he slid his hand down to find hers, and clung. Then she knew. All he heard was a faint, long sigh, and her fingers closed on his. He drew her gently, and by slow inches she shifted and drew nearer, into the cavity he opened for her. She was beside him, the fragile screen of hay hiding him and already half shielding her, and still no outcry. He urged her on past him with the pressure of his hand, to come first to the lattice and the rope as he covered her going. Outside the stable doors the circling voices were raised and peremptory, and Iestyn, wild with weariness and anger, roared back at them incoherent defiance. Then, blessedly, Sussana's voice, surely close there at her lover's shoulder, soared above the clamour: "Fools, do you think there's any power can separate us now? I hold as Iestyn holds, I despise your promises and your threats as he does. Bring my father to plead with me, would you? Let him hear, then, what I owe him, and what I wish him. Of all men on earth, I hate him! As he has made me of no worth, so I set no value on him. Dare he say I am no longer his daughter? He is no longer my father, he never was a father to me. May he be fed molten gold in h.e.l.l until belly and throat burn to furnace ashes..."

Under the fury of that raging voice, clear and steely as a sword, Liliwin hustled Rannilt past him and thrust her bodily through his dusty tunnel towards the lattice and the rope, all caution cast to the winds, for if this momemt escaped them, there might be no other.

It was Iestyn's quick ear that caught, even through Susanna's malediction, the sudden frenzied rustling of hay. He swung round with a great cry of rage at what he saw, and lunged away to prevent it. The first ray of light entering caught the flash of the naked knife.

Hugh was quick to understand and act. "Shoot!" he cried, and Alcher, who had that first finger of sunlight now bright on Iestyn's body, loosed his shaft. Meant for the breast, it would have been no less mortal in the back, if Susanna, for all her bitter pa.s.sion, had not taken in all these signs in one breath. She uttered a shriek rather of rage than fear, and flung herself into the opening of the hatch, arms spread and braced to ward off her lover's death.

At the first cry Liliwin had thrust Rannilt towards the way of escape, and sprung erect out of the hay to put his own slight body between her and harm. Iestyn bore down on him, the brandished dagger caught the levelled ray of sun and sent splinters of light dancing about the roof. The blade hung over Liliwin's heart when Susanna's shriek caused Iestyn to baulk and shudder where he stood, straining backwards like a horse suddenly reined in, and the point of the knife slid wildly down, slicing along the boy's parrying forearm, and drawing a fine spray of blood into the hay.

She was melting, she was dissolving into herself, as a man of snow folds into himself gradually when the thaw comes. The impact of the arrow, striking full into her left breast, had spun her round, she sank slowly with her hands clutching the shaft where it had pierced her, and her eyes fixed, huge and clouded, upon Iestyn, for whom the death had been intended. Liliwin, dazedly watching as the man sprang back to clasp her, said afterwards that she was smiling. But his recollections were confused and wild, what he chiefly recalled was a terrible howl of grief and despair that filled and echoed through the loft. The knife was flung aside, and stuck quivering in the boards of the floor. Iestyn embraced his love, moaning, and sank with her in his arms. Round the fearful barrier of the arrow she essayed to lift her failing arms to clasp him. Their kiss was a contortion the trained contortionist in Liliwin remembered lifelong with pity and pain.

Liliwin came to himself soon, because he must. He drew Rannilt up by the hand, away from the lattice of which they had no more need, and coaxed her after him down the ladder to the stable floor where the loaded horses stamped and shifted uneasily after all these nightlong alarms. He hoisted the heavy bars that held the doors, and it took all the strength he had left to lift them. The eastern light reached his face but no lower, as he pushed open both heavy doors, and led Rannilt out into the green meadow.

They were aware of men flowing in as they came gladly out. Their part was done. Brother Cadfael, breathing prayers of grat.i.tude, took them both in his arms, and swept them aside to a gra.s.sy knoll at the foot of the headland, where they dropped together thankfully into the spring turf, and drew in the May air and the morning light, and gradually turned and stared and smiled, like creatures in a dream, waking to be glad of each other.

Hugh was first up the ladder and into the loft, the sergeant hard on his heels. In the shaft of sunlight, bolder and broader now, and blindingly bright above the lingering dimness of the hay-strewn floor, Iestyn kneeled with Susanna in his arms, tenderly holding her up from the boards, for the shaft had pierced clean through her, and jutted at her shoulder. Her eyes were already filmed over as though with sleep, but still kept their fixed regard upon her lover's face, a mask of grief and despair. When the sergeant made to lay a hand on Iestyn's shoulder, Hugh waved him away.

"Let him alone," he said quietly, "he will not run." There was no future left to run for, nowhere to run to, no one to run with. Everything he cared for was in his arms, and would not be with him long.

Her blood was on his hands, on the lips and cheek that had caressed her frantically for a moment, as though caresses could make all whole again. He had given over that now, he only crouched and clasped her, and watched her lips trying to form words to take all upon herself, and deliver him, but making no sound, and presently ceasing to attempt it. He saw the light go out behind the gla.s.sy grey of her eyes.

Not until then did Hugh touch him. "She is gone, Iestyn. Lay her down now and come with us. I promise you she shall be brought home decently."

Iestyn laid her in the piled hay, and got to his feet slowly. The climbing sun fingered the knotted binding of the one bundle they had brought up here with them. His dulled eyes fell upon it, and flamed. He plucked it from the floor, and hurled it out through the hatch, to burst asunder in the gra.s.s of the meadow, scattering its contents in a shower of sparks as the level beams crept across the pasture.

A great howl of desolation and loss welled up out of Iestyn's throat to bay at the cloudless and untroubled sky: "And I would have taken her barefoot in her shift!"

Outside in the pasture another aggrieved wail arose like an echo, as Walter Aurifaber grovelled in the gra.s.s on his hands and knees, frantically clawing up from among the tussocks his despised gold and silver.

Chapter Fourteen.

Afterwards .

THEY TOOK BACK THE LIVING AND THE DEAD ALIKE into Shrewsbury in the radiant, slanting light of morning, Iestyn, mute now and indifferent to his fate, to a lodging in the castle; Susanna, safe from any penalty in this world, to the depeopled household from which three generations together would shortly be carried to the grave. Walter Aurifaber followed dazedly, hugging his recovered wealth, and regarding his daughter's body with a faint frown of bewilderment, as though, tugged between his loss and his gain, he could not yet determine what he should be feeling. For after all, she had robbed him and vilified him at the end, and if he had been deprived of a competent housekeeper, that was his sole serious loss, and there was another woman at home now to take her place. And with Daniel surely maturing and taking a pride in his own craftsmanship, he might very well manage without having to pay a journeyman. Whatever conflict disrupted Walter would soon be resolved in favour of satisfaction.

As for the two delivered lovers, bereft of words, unable to unlock eyes or hands, Cadfael took them in charge and, mindful of the proprieties, of Prior Robert's chaste disapproval and Abbot Radulfus" shrewd regard for the ordered peace of the rule, thought well to speak a word in Hugh's ear and enlist the ready sympathy of Hugh's lady. Aline welcomed Rannilt into her care with delight, and undertook to provide and instruct her in everything a bride should possess and know, to feed her plump and rosy, and coax into full light those beauties in her which hitherto had gone veiled and unregarded.

"For if you intend to take her away with you," said Cadfael, propelling the half-reluctant Liliwin back over the bridge towards the abbey gatehouse, "you'd best marry her here, where there'll be shame-faced folk enough anxious to set you up with small favours, to pay for their misuse of you earlier. No need to despise the gifts of this world when they come honestly. And you'll be doing the givers a kindness, they'll have made their peace with their consciences. You come back to us, and don't grudge a week's waiting to make ready for your marriage. You could hardly bring your girl back to share your bed in the porch." Or behind an altar, he thought but did not say. "She'll be safe there with Hugh's lady, and come to you with every man's goodwill."

Cadfael was right. Shrewsbury had a bad conscience about Liliwin, as soon as word of the scandalous truth was being pa.s.sed round over market-stalls and shop counters and traded along the streets. All those who had been too hasty in hunting him took care to proffer small favours by way of redress. The provost, who had taken no part, noted the sad state of the young man's only pair of shoes, and set an example by making him a fine new pair in which to resume his travels. Other members of the guild merchant took the hint. The tailors combined to clothe him decently. He bade fair to emerge better provided than ever before in his life.

But the best gift of all came from Brother Anselm.

"Well, since you won't stay and be celibate here among us," said the precentor cheerfully, "here is your own rebec ready for playing, and a good leather bag to carry it in. I'm pleased with my work, it came out better than I dared hope, and you'll find it still has a very sweet voice, after all its misadventures." And he added sternly, while Liliwin embraced his recovered treasure with a joy far more profound than if it had been gold and silver: "Now bear in mind what you've learned here concerning the reading and writing of music. Never lose your skills. Let me not be ashamed of my pupil when you come this way and visit us again."

And Liliwin poured out fervent thanks, and promises he might never be able to keep, though he meant them with all his heart.

They were married at the parish altar, where Liliwin had first taken refuge, by Father Adam, priest of the Foregate parish, in the presence of Hugh and Aline Beringar, Brother Cadfael, Brother Oswin, Brother Anselm, and several more of the brothers who felt a sympathetic interest in their departing guest. Abbot Radulfus himself gave them his blessing.

Afterwards, when they had packed up their wedding clothes and put on the everyday homespun in which they meant to set out together, they sought out Hugh Beringar, who was sitting with Brother Cadfael in the ante-chamber of the guest-hall.

"We should be off soon," said Liliwin, speaking for both, "to get the best of the day on the road to Lichfield. But we wanted to ask, before we go... His trial must be weeks away, we might never hear. He won't hang, will he?"

So little they had, those two, even if it was more than ever they had possessed before, and yet they had so much that they could afford pity. "You don't want him to hang?" said Hugh. "He would have killed you, Rannilt. Or do you not believe that, now it's all past?"

"Yes," she said simply, "I do believe it. I think he would have done it. I know she would. But I don't want his death. I never wanted hers. He won't hang, will he?"

"Not if my voice is heard. Whatever he may have done, he did not kill, and all that he stole has been restored. Whatever he did was done at her wish. I think you may set out with quiet minds," said Hugh gently. "He'll live. He's younger than she. He may yet take another, even if it must be a second-best."

For whatever else might be called in question about those two unhappy sinners, Rannilt had been a witness to the devoted and desperate love between them.

"He may end as a decent craftsman, settled with wife and children," said Hugh. Children who would be born in peace, not buried still in the womb, like Susanna's child. Three months gone, was the physician's estimate. Even if she had not seized the opportunity of her brother's wedding feast, she would have had to make her bid for freedom very soon.

"He would have given himself up for her sake," said Liliwin seriously, "and so would she for him. And she did die for him. I saw. We both saw. She knew what she did. Surely that must count?"

So it might, and so, surely, must the pity and prayers of two young creatures so misused and so magnanimous. Who should more certainly prevail?

"Come," said Brother Cadfael, "we'll bring you through the gate and see you on your way. And G.o.d go with you!"

And forth they went, hopefully and happily, the new leather bag slung proudly on Liliwin's shoulder. To a life that could never be less than hard and insecure, he the wandering entertainer at fairs and markets and small manors, she, no doubt, soon just as adept with that pure, small voice of hers, and a dance or two to her husband's playing. In all weathers, at all seasons, but with luck finding a decent patron for the winter, and a good fire. And at the very worst, together.

"Do you truly believe," asked Cadfael, when the two little figures had vanished along the Foregate, "that Iestyn also may have a life before him?"

"If he can make the effort. No one is going to press for his death. He is coming back to life, not willingly, but because he must. There is a vigour in him he can't shift all on to the past. It will be a minor love, but he'll marry and breed yet."

"And forget her?"

"Have I said so?" said Hugh, and smiled.

"Whatever she did of worst," said Cadfael soberly, "came of that in her that might have been best, if it had not been maimed. She was much wronged."

"Old friend," said Hugh, shaking his head with rueful affection, "I doubt if even you can get Susanna into the fold among the lambs. She chose her way, and it's taken her far out of reach of man's mercy, if ever she'd lived to face trial. And now, I suppose," he said, seeing his friend's face still thoughtful and undismayed, "you will tell me roundly that G.o.d's reach is longer than man's."

"It had better be," said Brother Cadfael very solemnly, "otherwise we are all lost."

About the Author.

ELLIS PETERS is the nom-de-crime 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. 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.