Ellis Peters - The Heretic's Apprentice

Hugh had come back to his house and family after a long and exasperating day of pursuing fruitless enquiries among an apparently unobservant populace, and trying to extract truth from a scared and perspiring Conan, who was willing to admit that he had spent an hour or so trying to persuade Aldwin to let sleeping dogs lie, since it was known already, but insisted that after that he had wasted no more time, but gone straight to his work in the pastures west of the town. And that might well be true, even if he could cite no acquaintance who had met and spoken to him on the way. But there remained the possibility that he was still lying, and had followed and made one more disastrous attempt to sway a mind normally only too easily deflected from any purpose.

Enough and more than enough for one day. Hugh had taken himself off home to his own house, to his wife and his son and his supper, and he was sitting in the clean rushes of the hall floor, stripped down to shirt and hose in the mild evening, helping three-year-old Giles to build a castle, when Cadfael came rapping briskly at the open door, and marched in upon him shining with portentous news, and towing by the sleeve an unknown and plainly nonplussed young man.

Hugh abandoned his tower of wooden blocks unfinished, and came alertly to his feet. “Truant again, are you? I looked for you in the herbarium an hour ago. Where have you been off to this time? And who is this you’ve brought me?”

“I’ve been no farther than Attingham,” said Cadfael, “to visit Father Eadmer. And here I’ve brought you his nephew, who is also Father Eadmer, ordained last month. This young man came to join his friend Father Boniface at Holy Cross for Saint Winifred’s celebrations. You know Father Elias has been fretting as to whether Aldwin died in a fit state to deserve all the rites of the Church, seeing he seldom showed his face at Mass in his own parish church. Elias had tried every priest he knew of, in and out of the town, to see if any could stand sponsor for the poor fellow. Boniface told me of one more who was here for a day and half a day, however unlikely it might be that a local man should find his way to him in so short a time. Howbeit, here he is, and he has a tale to tell you.”

Young Eadmer told it accommodatingly, though hardly comprehending what significance it could have here, beyond what he already knew. “And I walked back here with Brother Cadfael to see the man himself, whether he was indeed the one who came to me. And he is,” he ended simply. “But what Brother Cadfael sees in it more, of such moment that it must come at once to you, my lord, that he must tell you himself, for I can’t guess at it.”

“But you have not mentioned,” said Cadfael, “at what time this man came to you with his confession.”

“It was just when the bell had rung for Vespers,” Eadmer repeated obligingly, still mystified. “Because of him I came very late to the office.”

“Vespers?” Hugh had stiffened, turning upon them a face ablaze with enlightenment. “You are sure? That very day?”

“That very day!” Cadfael confirmed triumphantly. “And just at the ringing of the Vesper bell, as I have good reason to know, Elave walked into the great court and was set upon by Gerbert’s henchmen and battered to the ground, and has been prisoner in the abbey ever since. Aldwin was alive and well and seeking confession at that very moment. Whoever killed him, it was not Elave!”

Chapter was nearly over, next morning, when Girard of Lythwood presented himself at the gatehouse, requesting a hearing before the lord abbot. As a man of consequence in the town, and like his late uncle a good patron of the abbey, he came confidently, aware of his own merit and status. He had brought his foster daughter Fortunata with him, and they both came roused and girded, if not for battle, at least for possible contention, to be encountered courteously but with determination.

“Certainly admit them,” said Radulfus. “I am glad Master Girard is home again. His household has been greatly troubled and needs its head.”

Cadfael watched their entry into the chapter house with fixed attention. They were both in their best, adorned to cut the most impressive figure possible, the ideal respected citizen and his modest daughter. The girl took her stance a pace behind her father, and kept her eyes devoutly lowered in this monastic assembly, but when they opened wide for an instant, to flash a glance round the room and take a rapid estimate of possible friends and enemies, they were very shrewd, fierce, and bright. The first calculating glance had noted the continuing presence of Canon Gerbert, and recorded it with regret. In his presence she would contain her grief, anger, and anxiety on Elave’s behalf, and let Girard speak for her. Gerbert would deplore a froward woman, and Fortunata had certainly primed her father by this time in every detail. They must have spent the remainder of the past evening, after Cadfael’s departure, preparing what they were now about to propound.

The significance of one detail was not yet apparent, though it did suggest interesting possibilities. Girard carried under his arm, polished to that lovely dark patina by age and handling, and with the light caressing the gilded curves of its carving, the box that contained Fortunata’s dowry.

“My lord,” said Girard, “I thank you for this courtesy. I’ve come in the matter of the young man you have detained here as a prisoner. Everyone here knows that his accuser was done to death, and though no charge has been made against Elave on that count, your lordship must know that it has been the common talk everywhere that he must be the murderer. I trust you have now heard from the lord sheriff that it is not so. Aldwin was still alive and well when Elave was taken and made prisoner here. In the matter of the murder he is proven innocent. There is the word of a priest to vouch for him.”

“Yes, this has been made known to us,” said the abbot. “On that head Elave is cleared of all blame. I am glad to publish his innocence.”

“And I welcome your good word,” said Girard with emphasis, “as one who has a right to speak in all this, and to be heard, seeing that both Aldwin and Elave were of my uncle’s household, and now of mine, and the weight of both falls upon me. One man of mine has been killed unlawfully, and I want justice for him. I do not approve all that he did, but I understand his thinking and his actions, knowing his nature as I do. For him I can at least do this much, bury him decently, and if I can, help to run to earth his murderer. I have a duty also to Elave, who is living, and against whom the mortal charge now falls to the ground. Will you hear me on his behalf, my lord?”

“Willingly,” said Radulfus. “Proceed!”

“Is this the time or place for such a plea?” objected Canon Gerbert, shifting impatiently in his stall and frowning at the solid burgess who stood straddling the flags of the floor so immovably. “We are not now hearing this man’s case. The withdrawal of one charge - ”

“The charge of murder was never made,” said Radulfus, cutting him off short, “and as now appears, never can be made.”

“The withdrawal of one suspicion,” snapped Gerbert, “does not affect the charge which has been made, and which awaits judgment. It is not the purpose of chapter to hear pleas out of place, which may prejudice the case when the bishop declares his wishes. It would be a breach of form to allow it.”

“My lords,” said Girard with admirable smoothness and calm, “I have a proposition to make, which I feel to be reasonable and permissible, if you find yourselves so minded. To put it before you I needs must speak as to my knowledge of Elave, of his character, and the service he has done my household. It is relevant.”