Ellis Peters - Sanctuary Sparrow

Cadfael replaced the lid, went out and relocked the door. In the hall they were fluttering and bleating, anxious to insist on their own innocence and respectability at all costs, distracted at the thought that a kinswoman should be suspect of such an enormity as robbing her own family. Walter stammered out his answers, aghast at such treachery, almost incoherent with grief for his lost money, lost to his own child. Hugh turned rather to Daniel.

‘If she intended a long journey tonight, to take her out of our writ, or at least out of our hold, where would she run?

They would need horses. Have you horses they may have taken?’

‘Not here in the town,’ said Daniel, pale-faced and tousled from bed, his comeliness looking almost idiot at this pass, ‘but over the river we have a pasture and a stable. Father keeps two horses there.’

‘Which way? In Frankwell?’

‘Through Frankwell and along the westward road.’

‘And the westward road may well be our road,’ said Cadfael, coming in from the store, ‘for there’s a Welshman missing from under here, and what little he had gone with him, and once well into Wales he can thumb his nose at the sheriff of Shropshire. Whatever he may have taken with him.’

He had barely got it out, to indignant and disbelieving protests from Walter, outraged at the mere suggestion of such a depraved alliance, when Liliwin came bursting in from the rear quarters, his small person stiff and quivering with alarm.

‘I’ve been to the kitchen - Rannilt is not there. Her bed’s cold, she’s left her things just as they are, nothing taken.’How little she must have to take, but he knew the value, to one with virtually nothing, of the poor possessions she had left behind. ‘They’ve taken her with them - they’re afraid of what she knows and may tell. That woman has taken her,’ he cried, challenging the household, the law and all; ‘and she has killed and will kill again if she sees need. Where will they have gone? For I am going after them!’

‘So are we all,’ said Hugh, and turned on Walter Aurifaber. Let the father sweat for his own, as the lover did for his love. For his own by blood or by greed. ‘You, sir, come with us. You say she had but an hour’s start of us and on foot. Come, then, let’s be after them mounted. I sent for horses from the castle, they’ll be in the lane by now. You best know the way to your own stable, bring us there fast.’

The night was dark, clear and still young, so that light lingered in unexpected places, won from a smooth plane of the river, a house-front of pale stone, a flowering bush, or scattered stars of windflowers under the trees. The two women had passed through the Welsh gate and over the bridge without question. Owain Gwynedd, the formidable lord of much of Wales, withheld his hand courteously from interfering in England’s fratricidal war, and very cannily looked after his own interests, host to whoever fled his enemy, friend to whoever brought him useful information. The borders of Shrewsbury he did not threaten. He had far more to gain by holding aloof. But his own firm border he maintained with every severity. It was a good night, and a good time of night, for fugitives to ride to the west, if their tribal references were good.

Through the dark streets of the suburb of Frankwell they passed like shadows, and Susanna turned westward, keeping the river still in view, along a path between fields. The smaller bundle, but the heavier, Susanna carried. The large and unwieldy one that held all her good clothes they carried between them. It would have been too clumsy for one to manage alone. If I had not your help, she had said, I must have left half my belongings behind, and I shall have need of them.’

‘Shall you get far tonight?’ wondered Rannilt, hesitant but anxious for assurance.

‘Out of this land, I hope. Iestyn, who is nobody here, has a kinship of his own, and a place of his own, in his own country. There we shall be safe enough together. After tonight, if we make good speed, we cannot be pursued. You are not afraid, Rannilt, coming all this way with me in the dark?’

‘No,’ said Rannilt sturdily, ‘I’m not afraid. I wish you well, I wish you happy, I’m glad to carry your goods for you, and to know that you don’t go unprovided.’

‘No,’ agreed Susanna, with a curious twist to her voice that suggested laughter, ‘not quite penniless. I have earned my future, have I not? Look back now,’ she said, ‘over your left shoulder, at that mole-hill of the town.’ It showed as a hunched shadow in the shadowy night, stray flickers of light cast up the pale stone of the wall from the silver of the river in between. ‘A last glimpse,’ said Susanna, ‘for we have not far now to go. Has the load been heavy? You shall soon lay it down.’

‘Not heavy at all,’ said Rannilt. ‘I would do more for you if I could.’

The track along the headlands was rough and rutted, but Susanna knew it well, and stepped securely. On their right the ground rose, its darkness furred and fragrant with trees. On their left the smooth green meadows swept down to the lambent, murmuring Severn. Ahead, a roof heaved dimly out of the night, bushes banked about it, rough ground sheltering it to northwards, the pasture opening serenely to the south.

‘We are there,’ said Susanna, and hastened her step, so that Rannilt hurried to keep up with her and balance their burden.

Not a large building, this one that loomed out of the night, but stout in its timbers, and tall enough to show that above the stable it had a loft for hay and fodder. There was a double door set wide upon deep darkness, out of which the scent of horseflesh and hay and grainy, dusty warmth came to meet them. A man emerged, a dark shape, tensed to listen for any approaching foot. Susanna’s step he knew at once and he came with spread arms; she dropped her end of the bundle and opened her arms to him. Not a word, not a sound had passed between them. Rannilt stood clutching her end of the load, and shook as though the earth had trembled under her, as they came together in that silent, exultant embrace, laced arms straining. Once at least, if never again, she had experienced a small spark of this devouring flame. She closed her eyes, and stood quivering.

Their breaking apart was as abrupt and silent as their coming together. Iestyn looked over Susanna’s shoulder, and fixed his black glance on Rannilt. ‘Why did you bring the girl? What do we want with her?’

‘Come within,’ said Susanna, ‘and I’ll tell you. Have you saddled up? We should get away quickly.’

‘I was about it when I heard you.’ He picked up the roll of clothing, and drew her with him into the warm darkness of the stable and Rannilt followed timidly, only too aware how little need they now had of her. Iestyn closed the doors, but did not fasten them. ‘Who knows, there may still be some soul awake along the river, no need to let them see any movement here until we’re away.’

She heard and felt them embrace again in the dark, even in this brief contact becoming one by passionate consent. She knew then that they had lain together as she and Liliwin had lain, but many times and with no better hope. She remembered the rear door of Susanna’s chamber and the stair to the undercroft not many yards distant. Every temptation lavishly offered, and all countenance denied.

‘This child here,’ said Iestyn softly, ‘what’s your intent with her? Why did you bring her all this way?’

‘She sees too clear and notices too much,’ said Susanna shortly. ‘She has said to me, poor fool innocent, things she had better not have said, and had better not say to any other, for if they understood more than she by it, they might yet be the death of us. So I brought her. She can go with us - a part of the way.’