But she had asked him. She had liked him, was busy liking him now, and wondering, though without misgivings, what this monk of Shrewsbury might want concerning the movements and generosities and preoccupations of Sulien Blount of Longner.
‘What they said to each other, said Pernel, ‘I do not know. I am sure it was no harm.’
‘That,’ said Cadfael, ‘I think I may guess at. I think the young man may have asked her, when she came to the sheriff at the castle, not to mention that it was he who had come seeking her, but to say that she had heard of Britric’s plight and her own supposed death from the general gossip. News travels. She would have heard it in the end, but not, I fear, so quickly.’
‘Yes,’ said Pernel, flushing and glowing,’that I can believe of him, that he wanted no credit for his own goodness of heart. Why? Did she do as he wished?’
‘She did. No blame to her for that, he had the right to ask it of her.’
Perhaps not only the right, but the need! Cadfael made to rise, to thank her for the time she had devoted to him, and to take his leave, but she put out a hand to detain him.
‘You must not go without taking some refreshment in our house, Brother. If you will not stay and eat with us at midday, at least let me call Gunnild to bring us wine. Father bought some French wine at the summer fair.’ And she was on her feet and across the width of the hall to the screen door, and calling, before he could either accept or withdraw. It was fair, he reflected. He had had what he wanted from her. ungrudging and unafraid; now she wanted something from him. ‘We need say nothing to Gunnild,’ she said softly, returning. ‘It was a harsh life she used to live, let her put it by, and all reminders of it. She has been a good friend and servant to me, and she loves the children.’
The woman who came in from the kitchen and pantry with flask and glasses was tall, and would have been called lean rather than slender, but the flow of her movements was elegant and sinuous still within the plain dark gown. The oval face framed by her white wimple was olive-skinned and suave, the dark eyes that took in Cadfael with serene but guarded curiosity and dwelt with almost possessive affection upon Pernel, were still cleanly set and beautiful. She served them handily, and withdrew from them discreetly. Gunnild had come into a haven from which she did not intend to sail again, certainly not at the invitation of a vagabond like Britric. Even when her lady married, there would be the little sister to care for, and perhaps, some day, marriage for Gunnild herself, the comfortable, practical marriage of two decent, ageing retainers who had served long enough together to know they can run along cosily for the rest of their days.
‘You see,’ said Pernel, ‘how well worth it was to take her in, and how content she is here. And now,’ she said, pursuing without conceal what most interested her,’tell me about this Sulien Blount. For I think you must know him.’
Cadfael drew breath and told her all that it seemed desirable to him she should know about the sometime Benedictine novice, his home and his family, and his final choice of the secular world. It did not include any more about the history of the Potter’s Field than the mere fact that it had passed by stages from the Blounts to the abbey’s keeping, and had given up, when ploughed, the body of a dead woman for whose identity the law was now searching. That seemed reason enough for a son of the family taking a personal interest in the case, and exerting himself to extricate the innocent from suspicion, and accounted satisfactorily for the concern shown by the abbot and his envoy, this elderly monk who now sat in a window embrasure with Pernel, recounting briefly the whole disturbing history.
‘And his mother is so ill?’ said Pernel, listening with wide, sympathetic eyes and absorbed attention. ‘At least how glad she must be that he has chosen, after all, to come home.’
‘The elder son married in the summer,’ said Cadfael,’so there is a young woman in the household to give her comfort and care. But yes, certainly she will be glad to have Sulien home again.’
‘It is not so far,’ Pernel mused, half to herself. ‘We are almost neighbours. Do you think the lady Donata is ever well enough to want to receive visitors? If she cannot go out, she must sometimes be lonely.’
Cadfael took his leave with that delicate suggestion still in his ears, in the girl’s warm, purposeful, buoyant voice, and with her bright and confident face before his eyes, the antithesis of illness, loneliness and pain. Well, why not? Even if she went rather in search of the young man who had touched her generous fancy than for such benefit as her vigour and charm could confer upon a withered gentlewoman, her presence might still do wonders.
He rode back through the autumnal fields without haste, and instead of turning in at the abbey gatehouse, went on over the bridge and into the town, to look for Hugh at the castle.
It was plain, as soon as he began to climb the ramp to the castle gatehouse, that something had happened to cause a tremendous stir within. Two empty carts were creaking briskly up the slope and in under the deep archway in the tower, and within, there was such bustle between hall, stables, armoury and stores, that Cadfael sat his mule unnoticed for many minutes in the midst of the to-ings and fro-ings, weighing up what he saw, and considering its inevitable meaning. There was nothing confused or distracted about it, everything was purposeful and exact, the ordered climax of calculated and well-planned preparations. He dismounted, and Will Warden, Hugh’s oldest and most seasoned sergeant, halted for an instant in directing the carters through to the inner yard, and came to enlighten him.
‘We’re on the march tomorrow morning. The word came only an hour past. Go in to him, Brother, he’s in the gate-tower.’
And he was gone, waving the teamster of the second cart through the arch to the inner ward, and vanishing after the cart to see it efficiently loaded. The supply column must be preparing to leave today, the armed company would ride after them at first light.
Cadfael abandoned his mule to a stable boy, and crossed to the deep doorway of the guardroom in the gate-tower. Hugh rose from a littered table at sight of him, shuffled his records together and pushed them aside.
‘It’s come, as I thought it would. The king had to move against the man, for the saving of his own face he could no longer sit and do nothing. Though he knows as well as I do,’ admitted Hugh, preoccupied and vehement,’that the chances of bringing Geoffrey de Mandeville to pitched battle are all too thin. What, with his Essex supply lines secure even if the time comes when he can wring no more corn or cattle out of the Fens? And all those bleak levels laced with water, and as familiar to him as the lines of his own hand? Well, we’ll do him what damage we can, perhaps bolt him in if we can’t flush him out. Whatever the odds, Stephen has ordered his muster to Cambridge, and demanded a company of me for a limited time, and a company he shall have, as good as any he’ll get from his Flemings. And unless he has the lightning fit on himit takes him and us by surprise sometimeswe’ll be in Cambridge before him.’
Having thus unburdened himself of his own immediate preoccupations, concerning which there was no particular haste, since everything had been taken care of in advance, Hugh took a more attentive look at his friend’s face, and saw that King Stephen’s courier had not been the only visitor with news of moment to impart.
‘Well, well!’ he said mildly. “I see you have things on your mind, no less than his Grace the king. And here am I about to leave you hefting the load alone. Sit down and tell me what’s new. There’s time, before I need stir.’
Chapter Nine