Ellis Peters - The Leper of Saint Giles

The little mule, which had enjoyed an unhurried day, was resentful at being urged to speed at the end of it, and manifested his displeasure by halting inside the gatehouse and refusing to budge further. And Brother Cadfael, who had been demanding some effort of him until that moment, sat to gaze in mute astonishment as his eyes lit upon the scene in the great court. She saw his rapid glance rove over all those intent faces, she could almost feel him stretch his ears to pick up the words that were passing. He saw Joscelin standing braced and alert at the foot of the steps, saw sheriff and abbot eyeing each other somberly, and the draggled little figure of the young brother who, for Iveta, spoke with the unwitting tongue of a minor angel, the kind of angel who would descend with disarming apologies, and of whom no sinner would ever be afraid.

Hastily but quietly, Cadfael dismounted, surrendered the mule to the porter, and advanced to the edge of the crowd, himself still unnoticed. Obscurely encouraged, Iveta descended one more step.

“So it would seem,” said Radulfus reasonably, “that you were at the hospital, young man, by a quarter of an hour at least before Prime of that day, and perhaps as much as half an hour.”

“I had - acquired my cloak,” agreed Joscelin, a little astray now and treading warily, “some little time before I went to the church.”

“And you were instructed how to behave?”

“I have attended Prime before, I know the office.”

“Perhaps, but it would take some few minutes of instruction,” persisted Radulfus mildly, “to pick up the whole order of the day in Saint Giles.”

“I can watch others and do as they do,” said Joscelin flatly, “as readily as any other man.”

“Granted, Father,” said Gilbert Prestcote impatiently, “that he was there well before the seventh hour of the morning. That I accept. But we have no way of knowing the hour of my lord Domville’s death.”

Brother Cadfael had the whole drift of it by then. Finding his way blocked by spectators so intent that they remained deaf and blind to his civil requests and attempts to make his way through their ranks, he used his elbows sturdily, and butted a path through to the front. And before anyone else could speak up and brush the question of timing aside, he lifted his voice and called loudly as he came: “True, my lord, but there is a way of knowing when he was last seen alive and well.”

He broke through then, the sudden shout opening a path before him, and emerged face to face with the abbot and the sheriff, both of whom had swung about to face and frown upon the interruption.

“Brother Cadfael! You have something to say in this matter?”

“I have …” began Cadfael, and broke off to gaze in vexed concern at the shivering little figure of Brother Mark. He shook his head in distracted compunction. “But, Father, should not Brother Mark be changing that wet habit, and getting something hot into him, before he takes his death?”

Radulfus accepted the rebuke with penitent grace. “You are quite right, I should have despatched him at once. Any further testimony he may have to give can very well wait until his teeth stop chattering. There, brother, get yourself dry garments, go to the kitchen, and have Brother Petrus make you a hot posset. Quick, run.”

“If I may ask but one question first,” said Cadfael hastily, “before he goes. Did I hear, brother, that you have been following yonder lad as he came here? Have you had him under your eye all this while?”

“All the day from morning,” said Brother Mark, “he has not been more than a few minutes out of my sight. He left the hospice only an hour or so ago, and I followed him here. Is it of importance?” He meant to Brother Cadfael and whatever cause he had in mind, and Cadfael’s satisfied nod comforted and warmed him.

“There, run! You did well.”

Brother Mark made his reverence to the abbot, and dripped and shivered away to the kitchen thankfully enough. If he had done well for Brother Cadfael, he was content.

“And now,” said Radulfus, “you may explain what you meant by saying you had means of knowing when my lord Domville was last seen alive and in good health.”

“I have found and talked with a witness,” said Cadfael, “who will testify, whenever the sheriff requires, that Huon de Domville spent the night before his death in his own hunting-lodge, and did not leave it until about a third of the hour after six, next morning. Also that at that time he was in excellent health, and mounted to ride back to his quarters in the Foregate. The path on which we found him is the path he would have to take from that place. And the witness, I dare pledge, is reliable.”

“If what you say is confirmed,” said Prestcote, after a moment’s silence, “this is of the first importance. Who is this witness? Name the man!”

“No man,” said Cadfael simply, “but a woman. Huon de Domville spent his last night with his mistress of many years, and her name is Avice of Thornbury.”

The shock passed along the ranks of the innocent brethren as a sudden wind-devil whirls through standing wheat in summer, in a great, gusty sigh and a convulsion of rustling garments like shaken stems. On his wedding-eve, to repair to another woman! And after supping with the abbot, at that! To those of lifelong celibacy even the contemplation of a bride, chaste and young, was disturbing. But a kept woman, and visited on the eve of the marriage sacrament, in despite of both the celibate and the marital morality … !

The sheriff belonged to a more illusionless world. Not the outrage, only the understandable fact, concerned him. Nor was Abbot Radulfus greatly disconcerted, once the words were spoken. He might have evaded the experiences of the flesh, he had not gone in ignorance of them thus far through a highly intelligent life. The mention of Avice did not shake him.

“You recall. Father,” Cadfael pursued, while he had every man’s attention, “that I showed you the blue flowers of the gromwell he wore in his cap when he was found. The plant grows at this hunting-lodge, I found it there, and it bears out the woman’s story. She herself set it in his cap when he left her. It is nearly two miles from the lodge to the spot where he was ambushed and killed. Your own officers, Sir Gilbert, bear witness that they flushed young Lucy here out of cover in the Foregate more than half an hour before Prime. Therefore he could not possibly have been the man who set the springe for Huon de Domville, and killed him. The baron can have been no more than half a mile from his hunting-lodge, when Joscelin Lucy was being hunted along the Foregate to the hospital.”

Iveta took the last step that brought her to Joscelin’s side, and slipped her hand into his, and he gripped it convulsively, unaware that he was hurting her, and drew breath into him so deep and hard that she felt he had drawn in the breath of new life for both of them.

Agnes craned and peered towards the gatehouse, but still did not find what she sought. Her face was sharp and icy with malice, but she said never a word. Iveta had expected a blaze of disbelief, casting doubt upon both Brother Cadfael and his witness, even upon the evidence of the sheriff’s men. People can be vague and imprecise about time, it is not so hard to argue about the difference a mere half-hour can make. But Agnes kept silence, containing her aching rage and uneasiness.

Abbot Radulfus exchanged a long and thoughtful look with the sheriff, and turned again to Joscelin. “You promised me truth. I will ask you now what I have not so far asked. Did you play any part in the death of Huon de Domville?”

“I did not,” said Joscelin firmly.

“There remains the charge he himself brought against you. Did you steal from him?”