“Nothing to any purpose,” said Cadfael firmly. “And thanks to God you were brought out man alive to do so much. If there’s a place Stephen needs you now, it’s here, keeping this shire for him.” He was talking to himself. Hugh knew that already, or he would never have withdrawn from Lincoln. As for the slaughter there, no word was said. Better to make sure of bringing back all but a few of the solid townsfolk of Shrewsbury, his own special charge, and so he had done.
“Stephen’s queen is in Kent, and mistress of Kent, with a strong army, all the south and the east she holds,” said Hugh. “She will shift every stone between her and London, but she’ll get Stephen out of captivity somehow. It is not an ending. A reverse can be reversed. A prisoner can be loosed from prison.”
“Or exchanged,” said Cadfael, but very dubiously. There’s no great prize taken on the king’s side? Though I doubt if the empress would let go of Stephen for any three of her best lords, even Robert himself, helpless as she’d be without him. No, she’ll keep a fast hold of her prisoner, and make headlong for the throne. And do you see the princes of the church standing long in her way?”
“Well,” said Hugh, stretching his slight body wincingly, discovering new bruises, “my part at least I know. It’s my writ that runs here in Shropshire now as the king’s writ, and I’ll see to it this shire, at least, is kept for the king.”
He came down to the abbey, two days later, to attend the Mass Abbot Radulfus had decreed for the souls of all those dead at Lincoln, on both parts, and for the healing of England’s raw and festering wounds. In particular there were prayers to be offered for the wretched citizens of the northern city, prey to vengeful armies and plundered of all they had, many even of their lives, and many more fled into the wilds of the winter countryside. Shropshire stood nearer to the fighting now than it had been for three years, being neighbour to an earl of Chester elated by success and greedy for still more lands. Every one of Hugh’s depleted garrisons stood to arms, ready to defend its threatened security.
They were out from Mass, and Hugh had lingered in speech with the abbot in the great court, when there was sudden bustle in the arch of the gatehouse, and a small procession entered from the Foregate. Four sturdy countrymen in homespun came striding confidently, two with bows strung and slung ready for action, one shouldering a billhook, and the fourth a long-handled pikel. Between them, with two of her escort on either side, rode a plump middle-aged woman on a diminutive mule, and wearing the black habit of a Benedictine nun. The white bands of her wimple framed a rounded rosy face, well-fleshed and well-boned, and lit by a pair of bright brown eyes. She was booted like a man, and her habit kilted for riding, but she swung it loose with one motion of a broad hand as she dismounted, and stood alert and discreet, looking calmly about her in search of someone in authority.
“We have a visiting sister,” said the abbot mildly, eyeing her with interest, “but one that I do not know.” Brother Cadfael, crossing the court without haste towards the garden and the herbarium, had also marked the sudden brisk bustle at the gate, and checked at the sight of a well remembered figure. He had encountered this lady once before, and found her well worth remembering. And it seemed that she, also, recalled their meeting with pleasure, for the moment her eyes lit upon him the spark of recognition flashed in them, and she came at once towards him. He went to meet her gladly. Her rustic bodyguard, satisfied at having delivered her successfully where she would be, stood by the gatehouse, straddling the cobbles complacently, and by no means intimidated or impressed by their surroundings.
“I thought I should know that gait,” said the lady with satisfaction. “You are Brother Cadfael, who came once on business to our cell. I’m glad to have found you to hand, I know no one else here. Will you make me known to your abbot?”
“Proudly,” said Cadfael, “and he’s regarding you this minute from the corner of the cloister. It’s two years now… Am I to tell him he’s honoured by a visit from Sister Avice?”
“Sister Magdalen,” she said demurely and faintly smiled; and when she smiled, however briefly and decorously, the sudden dazzling dimple he remembered flashed like a star in her weathered cheek. He had wondered then whether she had not better find some way of exorcising it in her new vocation, or whether it might not still be the most formidable weapon in her armoury. He was aware that he blinked, and that she noted it. There was always something conspiratorial in Avice of Thornbury that made every man feel he was the only one in whom she confided. “And my errand,” she said practically, “is really to Hugh Beringar, for I hear Gilbert Prestcote did not come back from Lincoln. They told us in the Foregate we should find him here, or we were bound up to the castle to look for him.”
“He is here,” said Cadfael, “fresh from Mass, and talking with Abbot Radulfus. Over my shoulder you’ll see them both.” She looked, and by the expression of her face she approved. Abbot Radulfus was more than commonly tall, erect as a lance, and sinewy, with a lean hawk-face and a calmly measuring eye; and Hugh, if he stood a whole head shorter and carried but light weight, if he spoke quietly and made no move to call attention to himself, nevertheless seldom went unnoticed. Sister Magdalen studied him from head to heel with one flash of her brown eyes. She was a judge of a man, and knew one when she saw him.
“Very well so!” she said, nodding. “Come, and I’ll pay my respects.” Radulfus marked their first move towards him and went to meet them, with Hugh at his shoulder.
“Father Abbot,” said Cadfael, “here is come Sister Magdalen of our order, from the cell of Polesworth which lies some miles to the southwest, in the forest at Godric’s Ford. And her business is also with Hugh Beringar as sheriff of this shire.” She made a very graceful reverence and stooped to the abbot’s hand. “Truly, what I have to tell concerns all here who have to do with order and peace, Father. Brother Cadfael here has visited our cell, and knows how we stand in these troublous times, solitary and so close to Wales. He can advise and explain, if I fall short.”
“You are welcome, sister,” said Radulfus, measuring her as shrewdly as she had measured him. “Brother Cadfael shall be of our counsel. I trust you will be my guest for dinner. And for your guards—for I see they are devoted in attendance on you—I will give orders for their entertainment. And if you are not so far acquainted, here at my side is Hugh Beringar, whom you seek.”
Though that cheek was turned away from him, Cadfael was certain that her dimple sparkled as she turned to Hugh and made her formal acknowledgement. “My lord, I was never so happy,” she said—and whether that was high courtesy or mischief might still be questioned—“as to meet with you before, it was with your sheriff I once had some speech. As I have heard he did not return with you and may be prisoner, and for that I am sorry.”