Ellis Peters: The Sanctuary Sparrow

The great wooden bucket, its old boards worn and fretted within and without from long use, came up out of the depths sparkling in the first slanting ray of the rising sun. Griffin filled his two pails, and was slinging the bucket back over the shaft when the gleam caught a flash of silver between two of the boards, lodged edgeways in the crevice. He balanced the bucket on the stone rim of the well, and leaned and fished out the shining thing, tugging it free between finger and thumb, and shaking off a frayed shred of blue cloth that came away with it. It lay in his palm shining, a round disc of silver prettily engraved with a head, and some strange signs he did not know for letters. On the reverse side there was a round border and a short cross within it, and more of the mysterious signs. Griffin was charmed. He took his prize back with him to the workshop, and when Baldwin Peche finally arose from his bed and came forth blear-eyed and cross-grained, the boy presented him proudly with what he had found. Whatever belonged here belonged to his master.

The locksmith clapped eyes on it and kindled like a lighted lamp, head and eyes clearing marvellously. He turned it in his fingers, examining both sides closely, and looked up with a curious, private grin and a cautious question:

“Where did you find this, boy? Have you shown it to anyone else?”

“No, master, I brought it straight in for you. It was in the bucket of the well,” said Griffin, and told him how it had lodged between the boards.

“Good, good! No need to let others know I have such. Stuck fast in the boards, was it?” mused Baldwin, brooding gleefully over his treasure. “You’re a good lad! A good lad! You did right to bring it straight to me, I set a great value on this! A great value! He was grinning to himself with immense satisfaction, and Griffin reflected his content proudly. I’ll give you some sweetmeats to your dinner I got from last night’s feast. You shall see I can be grateful to a dutiful boy.”

Chapter Two

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Saturday, from Prime to noon

Brother Cadfael had Liliwin awake and made as presentable as possible before the brothers came down to Prime. He had risked helping him out at first light to the necessary offices, where he might at least wash his battered face and relieve himself, and return to stand up before the assembled convent at Prime with some sad dignity. Not to speak of the urgent need to have Prior Robert’s stall vacant and ready for him, for Robert’s rigid disapproval of the intrusion and the intruder was already sufficiently clear, and there was no need to aggravate his hostility. The accused had enough enemies already.

And in they came at the gatehouse, just as the brothers emerged from Prime, a solid phalanx of citizens intent on lodging their accusations this time in due and irreproachable form. Sheriff Prestcote had deputed the enquiry and negotiations to his own sergeant, having more important items of the king’s business on his hands than a passing assault and robbery in a town dwelling. He was newly back from his Easter attendance at King Stephen’s court and the delivery of the shire accounts and revenues, and his early summer survey of the county’s royal defences was about to begin. Already Hugh Beringar, his deputy, was in the north of the shire about the same necessary business, though Cadfael, who relied on Hugh’s good sense in all matters of poor souls fetched up hard against the law, hoped fervently that he would soon be back in Shrewsbury to lend a shrewd eye and willing ear to both sides in the dispute. The accusers had always the advantage without a healthy sceptic in attendance.

Meantime, here was the sergeant, large, experienced and sharp enough, but disposed to the accusers rather than the accused, and with a formidable array of townsmen behind him, led by the provost, Geoffrey Corviser. A decent, stout, patient man, and in no hurry to condemn without conscientious probing, but already primed with the complaints of several equally solid citizens, in addition to the aggrieved family. A wedding party provides at once large numbers of witnesses, and a powerful argument for doubting the half of their evidence.

Behind the authorities of shire and town came young Daniel Aurifaber, slightly the worse for wear after his hectic and unorthodox wedding night, and in his working clothes this time, but still belligerent. Surely, however, not so disturbed as a young man should be at his father’s untimely slaying? Even slightly sheepish, and all the surlier because of it.

Cadfael withdrew to the rear of the brothers, between the citizen army and the church, and prepared to block the doorway if any of the witnesses should again lose his head and dare the abbot’s thunder. It did not seem likely, with the sergeant there in control, and well aware of the necessity of dealing civilly and amicably with a mitred abbot. But in any dozen men there may well be one incorrigible idiot capable of any folly. Cadfael cast a glance over his shoulder, and glimpsed a pallid, scared face, but a body still, silent and intent, whether trusting in his ecclesiastical shelter, or simply resigned, there was no knowing.

“Keep within, out of sight, lad,” said Cadfael over his shoulder, “unless you’re called for. Leave all to the lord abbot.”

Radulfus greeted the sergeant composedly, and after him the provost.

“I expected your visit, after the night’s alarm. I am acquainted with the charges then made against a man who has appealed to sanctuary within our church, and been received according to our duty. But the charges have no force until made in due form, through the sheriff’s authority. You are very welcome, sergeant, I look to you to inform me truly how this matter stands.”

He had no intention, Cadfael thought, watching, of inviting them withindoors into chapterhouse or hall. The morning was fine and sunny, and the matter might be agreed more briskly here, standing. And the sergeant had already recognised that he had no power to take the fugitive out of the hands of the church, and was intent only on agreeing terms, and hunting his proofs elsewhere.

“There is a charge lodged with me,” he said practically, “that the jongleur Liliwin, who was employed last night to play at a wedding in the house of Master Walter Aurifaber, struck down the said Walter in his workshop, where he was then laying away certain valuable wedding gifts in his strong-box, and robbed the strong-box of a treasure in coins and goldsmith’s work to a great value. This is sworn to by the goldsmith’s son, here present, and by ten of the guests who were at the feast.”

Daniel braced his feet, stiffened his neck, and nodded emphatic confirmation. Several of the neighbours at his back murmured and nodded with him.

“And you have satisfied yourself,” said Radulfus briskly, “that the charges are justified? At least, whoever did them, that these deeds were done?”

“I have viewed the workshop and the strong-box. The box is emptied of all but heavy items of silverware that would be ill to carry undetected. I have taken sworn witness that it held a great sum in silver pence and small, fine works of jewellery. All are gone. And as to the act of violence against Master Aurifaber, I have seen the marks of his blood close to the coffer, where he was found, and I have seen how he lies still out of his senses.”

“But not dead?” said Radulfus sharply. “It was murder was cried here at midnight.”

“Dead?” The sergeant, an honest man, gaped at the suggestion. “Not he! He’s knocked clean out of his wits, but it was not so desperate a blow as all that. If he hadn’t had a fair wash of drink in him he might have been fit to speak up for himself by now, but he’s still addled. It was a fair dunt someone gave him, but with a good hard head… No, he’s well alive, and will live his proper span if I’m a judge.”