Ellis Peters: The Raven in the Foregate

“Every uncoverer of evil acquires merit,” said Hugh, taking idle pleasure in the mild satire upon Brother Jerome. “What merit could there be for him there, in a lad holding a horse?”

“Why, one Benet, or Ninian, hunted as recreant to our lord King Stephen, and denounced to our lord sheriff—saving your presence, Hugh, but you know you were just confirmed in office, you mean more now to Brother Jerome than ever before!—by Ralph Giffard, no less. That is what Jerome saw, barring that the malefactor did seem to be wearing clothes never seen on him before.”

“Now you do surprise me,” said Hugh, turning a gleaming and amused face upon his friend. “And this really was the said Benet or Ninian?”

“It was indeed. I knew him, and so did Sanan when she looked ahead, where Jerome was looking, and saw him there. The lad himself, Hugh, bold as ever to plunge his head into whatever snare. Come to make sure himself where the blame was flying, and see that none of it fell upon his nurse. God knows what he would have done, if you had not carolled aloud your preference for Jordan. After all, what did he know of all that happened after he came panting into the church, that night? It could have been Jordan, for all he knew. No doubt he believed it was, once you bayed the quarry.”

“I have a fine, bell-mouthed bay,” acknowledged Hugh, grinning. “And just as well Father Abbot kept me talking and would have me stay and dine with him, or I might have run my nose full into this madcap lad of yours, and just as Jerome plucked him by the hood. So how did all this end? I heard no foray in the Foregate.”

“There was none,” agreed Cadfael complacently. “Ralph Giffard was there among the crowd, did you never see him? He’s tall enough to top most of the Foregate folk. But there, you were held fast in the middle, no time to look about you. He was there. At the end he turned to go, not worst pleased, I fancy, that you had no hold on the lad he’d felt obliged to hand to you earlier. It was good to see, Hugh! He shouldered past Jerome, having legs so much longer, just as our most eager hound had his nose down on a hot scent. And he took the bridle from the lad’s hand, and even smiled at him, eye to eye, and the lad held his stirrup for him and steadied him astride, as good a groom as ever you saw. And Jerome baulked like a hound at a loss, and came scuttling back, aghast that he’d as good as howled accusation at Giffard’s own groom, waiting honestly for his master. That was when I saw Sanan shudder into such laughter as might almost have broken her apart, but that she’s very sturdily made, that lady! And Giffard rode away, back along the Foregate, and the groom that was no groom of his went trotting after him afoot, out of sight and away.”

“And this verily happened?” demanded Hugh.

“Son, I saw it. I shall cherish it. Off they went, and Ralph Giffard threw a silver penny to young Ninian, and Ninian caught it and went on his way round the corner and out of sight, before he stopped for breath. And still does not know, I suppose,” said Cadfael, peering through the doorway into a late afternoon light that still lacked an hour or so to Vespers, “still does not know to whom he owes his salvation. How I would love to be by, when Sanan tells him to whom he owes his fat pay for less than an hour of holding a horse! I wager that lad will never part with that penny, he’ll have it pierced for his neck or for hers. There are not many such keepsakes,” said Cadfael smugly, “in one lifetime.”

“Are you telling me,” said Hugh, delighted,”that those two met so and parted so, in mutual service, and had no notion with whom they dealt?”

“No notion in the world! They had exchanged messages, they were allies, adversaries, friends, enemies, what you please, in the most intimate degree,” said Cadfael, with deep and grateful contentment, “but neither of them had the least idea what the other one looked like. They had never once set eyes on each other.”