Ellis Peters - A Morbid Taste For Bones

She turned and looked at him in astonishment and wonder. “Did I say that?”

“You did, and very well you delivered it, too. And very proper and apt it sounded, but I think we never rehearsed it so. Where did you get the words?”

“I don’t know,” said Sioned, puzzled. “I don’t remember what I did say. The words seemed to come freely of themselves, I only let them flow.”

“It may be,” said Engelard, “that the saint was taking her chance when it offered. All these strangers having visions and ecstasies, and interpreting them to suit themselves, yet nobody ever really asked Saint Winifred what she wanted. They all claimed they knew better than she did.”

“Out of the mouths of innocents!” said Cadfael to himself, and pondered the road that was gradually opening before his mind’s eye. Of all the people who ought to be left happy with the outcome, Saint Winifred should surely come first. Aim, he thought, at making everybody happy, and if that’s within reach, why stir up any kind of unpleasantness? Take Columbanus, for instance! Only a few hours ago at Compline he prayed aloud before us all that if the virgin deemed him worthy, he might be taken up out of this world this very night, translated instantly out of the body. Well, that was one who got his wish! Maybe he’d have withdrawn his request if he’d known it was going to be taken up so literally, for its purpose was rather to reflect incomparable holiness upon him while he was still alive to enjoy it. But saints have a right to suppose that their devotees mean what they say, and bestow gifts accordingly. And if the saint has really spoken through Sioned, he thought — and who am I to question it? — if she really wants to stay here in her own village, which is a reasonable enough wish, well, the plot where she used to sleep has been newly turned today, no one will notice anything if it’s turned again tonight.

“I believe,” said Sioned, watching him with the first faint smile, wan but trusting, “you’re beginning to see your way.”

“I believe,” said Cadfael, “I’m beginning to see our way, which is more to the point. Sioned, I have something for you to do, and you need not hurry, we have work to do here while you’re away. Take that sheet of yours, and go and spread it under the may trees in the hedge, where they’re beginning to shed, but not yet brown, Shake the bushes and. bring us a whole cloud of petals. The last time she visited him, it was with wondrous sweet odours and a shower of white flowers. Bring the one, and we shall have the other.”

Confidently, understanding nothing as yet, she took the linen sheet from which she had unwound herself as from a shroud, and went to do his bidding.

“Give me the dagger,” said Cadfael briskly when she was gone. He wiped the blade on the veil Columbanus had torn from Sioned’s head, and moved the candles so that they shone upon the great red seals that closed Winifred’s reliquary. “Thank God he didn’t bleed,” he said. “His habit and clothes are unmarked. Strip him!”

And he fingered the first seal, nodded satisfaction at its fatness and the thinness and sharpness of the dagger, and thrust the tip of the blade into the flame of the lamp.

Long before daylight they were ready. They walked down all three together from the chapel towards the village, and separated at the edge of the wood, where the shortest path turned off uphill towards Rhisiart’s holding.

Sioned carried with her the blood-stained sheet and veil, and the fragments of glass they had buried in the forest. A good thing the servants who had filled in Rhisiart’s grave had left their spades on the scene, meaning to tidy the mound next day. That had saved a journey to borrow without leave, and a good hour of time.

“There’ll be no scandal,” said Cadfael, when they halted at the place where the paths divided. “No scandal, and no accusations. I think you may take him home with you, but keep him out of sight until we’re gone. There’ll be peace when we’re gone. And you needn’t fear that the prince or his bailiff will ever proceed further against Engelard, any more than against John. I’ll speak a word in Peredur’s ear, Peredur will speak it into the bailiff’s ear, the bailiff will speak it into Owain Gwynedd’s ear — Father Huw we’ll leave out of it, no need to burden his conscience, the good, simple man. And if the monks of Shrewsbury are happy, and the people of Gwytherin are happy — for they’ll hear the whisper fast enough — why should anyone want to upset such a satisfactory state of affairs, by speaking the word aloud? A wise prince — and Owain Gwynedd seems to me very wise — will let well alone.”

“All Gwytherin,” said Sioned, and shivered a little at the thought, “will be there in the morning to watch you take the reliquary away.”

“So much the better, we want all the witnesses we can have, all the emotion, all the wonder. I am a great sinner,” said Cadfael philosophically, “but I feel no weight. Does the end justify the means, I wonder?”

“One thing I know,” she said. “My father can rest now, and that he owes to you. And I owe you that and more. When I first came down to you out of the tree — you remember? — I thought you would be like other monks, and not want to look at me.”

“Child, I should have to be out of my wits, not to want to look at you. I’ve looked so attentively, I shall remember you all my life. But your love, my children, and how you manage it — with that I can’t help you.”

“No need,” said Engelard. “I am an outlander, with a proper agreement. That agreement can be dissolved by consent, and I can be a free man by dividing all my goods equally with my lord, and now Sioned is my lord.”

“And then there can no man prevent,” said Sioned, “if I choose to endow him with half my goods, as is only fair. Uncle Meurice won’t stand in our way. And it won’t even be hard for him to justify. To marry an heiress to an outlander servant is one thing, to marry her to a free man and heir to a manor, even if it’s in England and can’t be claimed for a while, is quite another.”

“Especially,” said Cadfael, “when you already know he’s the best hand with cattle in the four cantrefs.”

It seemed that those two, at any rate, were satisfied. And Rhisiart in his honoured grave would not grudge them their happiness. He had not been a grudging man.

Engelard, no talker, said his thanks plainly and briefly when they parted. Sioned turned back impulsively, flung her arms round Cadfael’s neck, and kissed him. It was their farewell, for he had thought it best to advise them not to show themselves at the chapel again. It was a wry touch that she smelled so heady and sweet with flowering may, and left so saintly a fragrance in his arms when she was gone.

On his way down to the parsonage Cadfael made a detour to the mill-pond, and dropped Columbanus’s dagger into the deepest of the dark water. What a good thing, he thought, making for the bed he would occupy for no more than an hour or so before Prime, that the brothers who made the reliquary were such meticulous craftsmen, and insisted on lining it with lead!

Prior Robert arose and went to the first service of the day in so great content with his success that he had almost forgotten about the escape of Brother John, and even when he remembered that one unsatisfactory particular, he merely put it away in the back of his mind, as something that must and would be dealt with faithfully in good time, but need not cloud the splendour of this occasion. And it was indeed a clear, radiant morning, very bright and still, when they came from the church and turned towards the old graveyard and the chapel, and all the congregation fell in at their heels and followed, and along the way others appeared silently from every path, and joined the procession, until it was like some memorable pilgrimage. They came to Cadwallon’s gatehouse, and Cadwallon came out to join them, and Peredur, who had hung back in strict obedience to his orders to remain at home until his penance was appointed, was kindly bidden forth by Father Huw, and even smiled upon, though as saint to sinner, by Prior Robert. Dame Branwen, if not still asleep, was no doubt recuperating after her vapours. Her menfolk were not likely to be very pressing in their invitations to her to go with them, and perhaps she was still punishing them by withdrawing herself. Either way, they were relieved of her presence.