Ellis Peters - The Virgin in the Ice

“More courage,” lamented the gaunt mask on the pillow, and wrung out a bitter but human smile. “All was done and undone as you have said. All was well-meant. God forgive me what was badly done.”

The lines of his face had softened into humility, the stress of his voice eased into submission. There was no more he had to remember or confess, everything was said and understood. Brother Elyas stretched his long body from crown to imperilled toes, shuddered and collapsed into peace. His very feebleness came to his aid, he sank without resistance into sleep. The large eyelids expanded, lines melted from about brow and mouth and deep eye-sockets. He floated down into a prodigious profound of penitence and forgiveness.

“Is it true?” asked Yves in an awed whisper, as soon as they had closed the door softly upon Brother Elyas’ sleep.

“It is, surely. A passionate soul, who asks too much of himself, and under-values what he gives. He braved the frosty night and the blinding snow without his cloak, rather than sully Sister Hilaria with even the tormented presence of desire. He will live, he will be reconciled with both his body and his soul. It takes time,” said Brother Cadfael tolerantly.

If a thirteen-year-old boy understood less than all of this, or understood it only in the academic way of one instructed in an art never yet practiced, Yves gave no sign of it. The eyes fixed brightly upon Cadfael’s face were sharply intelligent. Grateful, reassured and happy, he put the last burden away from him.

“Then it was the outlaw raiders who found her, after all,” he said, “alone as she was, after Brother Elyas had left her.”

Cadfael shook his head. “They found and struck down Brother Elyas, as I think it was their way to kill any who by chance encountered them on their forays, and might bear witness against them. But here—no, I think not. Before dawn followed that same night they had time to strike at Druel’s farmstead. I do not believe they went half a mile out of their way to reach the hut. Why should they? They knew of nothing there for them. And besides, they would not have troubled to move her body elsewhere, and the good gowns they would have taken with them. No, someone came by the hut because it was on his way, and entered it, I fancy, because the blizzard was at its height, and he thought fit to shelter through the worst of it.”

“Then it could have been anyone,” said Yves, indignant and dismayed at the affront to justice, “and we may never know.”

It was in Cadfael’s mind then that there was already one person who knew, and the morrow would see it put to the proof. But he did not say so. “Well, at least,” he said instead, “you need have no more anxiety for Brother Elyas. He is as good as shriven, and he will live and thrive, and do honor to our order. And if you are not sleepy again yet, you may sit with him for a while. He claimed you for his boy in a good hour, and you may be his serviceable boy still, while you are here.”

Ermina was sitting by the hall fire, still stitching relentlessly at a sleeve of the gown. Working against time, thought Cadfael, when she looked up only briefly, and at once returned to labor unaccustomed and uncongenial. She gave him a smile, but it was a grave and shadowy one.

“All is well with Yves,” said Cadfael simply. “He was fretting over words Brother Elyas spoke in his sleep, that seemed to be confession of murder, but were no such thing.” He told her the whole of it. Why not? She was becoming a woman before his eyes, fettered by responsibilities suddenly realized and heroically accepted. “There is nothing weighing on his heart now, except the fear that the true murderer may go undiscovered.”

“He need not fear,” said Ermina, and looked up and smiled, a different smile, at once secretive and confiding. “God’s justice must be infallible, it would be sin to doubt it.”

“At least,” said Cadfael noncommittally, “he will be ready and willing to go with you now. Even eager. Your Olivier has a worshipper who would follow him to the world’s end.”

The bright, proud stare of her eyes came up to him sharply, the firelight waking sparks of deep red hi the depths. “He has two,” she said.

“When is it to be?”

“How did you know?” she asked, with a little curiosity but no surprise or consternation.

“Would such a man leave his work unfinished, and let another send home, however gallantly, the charges he was sent to find? Of course he means to complete the task himself. What else?”

“You will not stand in his way?” But she waved that aside with the hand that held the needle. “Pardon! I know you will not. You have seen him now, you know how to recognize a man! He sent me word by Yves. He will come tomorrow, about Compline, when the household makes ready for bed.”

Cadfael thought it over, and said judicially: “I would leave departure until the brothers rise for Matins and Lauds, there will then be no porter on the gate, he will be in church with the rest. And no further stir until Prime. You and the boy could sleep some hours before riding. And if he comes during Compline, I can bring him within until time to leave. If you will trust me with the charge?”

“And thank you for it,” she said without hesitation. “We will do as you advise.”

“And you,” said Brother Cadfael, watching her seam lengthen with fierce stitch after stitch, “will you be as ready as Yves to leave this place by tomorrow’s midnight?”

She looked up yet again, without haste or concealment, but without confiding, either, and the sinking firelight caught the red glow again in her eyes, while her face was a pure mask. “Yes, I shall be ready,” she said, and glanced down at the sewing in her lap before she added: “My work here will be done.”

Chapter Fifteen

The night was clear, starry and still, barely on the edge of frost. The sun emerged with dawn, and for the second night there had been no fresh snow. The drifts dwindled, even before the slow, quiet thaw set in, the kind of thaw that clears paths by gradual, almost stealthy erosion, and causes no floods.

Hugh Beringar had got back late in the evening, after overseeing the total destruction of what the fire had left, and the removal of a startling collection of plunder. The clutter of lean-to cells along the stockade had yielded up the remains of two murdered prisoners, tortured until they surrendered whatever they had of value, and three more still alive after the same treatment. They were being nursed in Ludlow, where Josce de Dinan had secured the survivors of the garrison in chains. Of the attacking force, there were some eighteen wounded, many more with minor grazes, but none dead. It might have been a deal more costly.

Prior Leonard strode radiantly about his court in the chill but brilliant sunlight, glittering with relief that his region was delivered from a pestilence, the missing pair safe within his walls, and Brother Elyas mute with wonder and grace in his bed, and bent upon life, whether blissful or baleful. He looked up with clear, patient eyes now, and took exhortation and reproof alike with humility and gladness. His mind was whole, his body would not be long in following.

Not long after High Mass the claimants began to come in to look for their horses, as doubtless they were flocking to Ludlow to pick out their own cows and sheep. Some, no doubt, would be claimed by more than one, and give rise to great quarrels and the calling in of neighbors to identify the disputed stock. But here there were only a handful of horses, and little ground for the opportunist greed of the cunning. Horses know their owners as well as the owners know their horses. Even the cows in Ludlow would have plenty to say about where they belonged.