‘Father Abbot is fully informed,’ said Cadfael, ‘with all the matter that brought me to visit you. He is concerned for justice, as we are. To the dead and to the living. He will not stand in the way of any converse that may serve that end.’
‘He was kind,’ she said, and suddenly warmed and smiled. ‘And now we have observed all the proper forms, and I can breathe again. Where may we talk?’
He took them to his workshop in the herb garden. It was becoming too chilly to linger and converse outdoors, his brazier was alight but damped down within, and with the timber doors wide open, Brother Winfrid returning to the remaining patch of rough pre-winter digging just outside the enclosure wall, and Gunnild standing at a discreet distance within, not even Prior Robert could have raised his brows at the propriety of this conference. Pernel had been wise in applying directly to the superior, who already knew of the role she had played, and certainly had no reason to disapprove of it. Had she not gone far to save both a body and a soul? And she had brought the one, if not visibly the other, to show to him.
‘Now,’ said Cadfael, tickling the brazier to show a gleam of red through its controlling turves,’sit down and be easy, the both of you. And tell me what you have in mind, to bring you here to worship, when, as I know, you have a church and a priest of your own. I know, for it belongs, like Upton, to this house of Saint Peter and Saint Paul. And your priest is a rare man and a scholar, as I know from Brother Anselm, who is his friend.’
‘So he is,’ said Pernel warmly, ‘and you must not think I have not talked with him, very earnestly, about this matter.’ She had settled herself decorously at one end of the bench against the wall of the hut, composed and erect, her face bright against the dark timber, her hood fallen back on her shoulders. Gunnild, invited by a smile and a gesture, glided out of shadow and sat down on the other end of the bench, leaving a discreet gap between the two of them to mark the difference in their status, but not too wide, to underline the depth of her alliance with her mistress. ‘It was Father Ambrosius,’ said Pernel, ‘who said the word that brought me here on this day of all days. Father Ambrosius studied for some years in Brittany. You know, Brother, whose day we are celebrating?’
‘I should,’ said Cadfael, relinquishing the bellows that had raised a red glow in his brazier. ‘He is as Welsh as I am, and a close neighbour to this shire. What of Saint Tysilio?’
‘But did you know that he is said to have gone over to Brittany to fly from a woman’s persecution? And in Brittany they also tell of his life, like the readings you will hear today at Collations. But there they know him by another name. They call him Sulien.’
‘Oh, no,’ she said, seeing how speculatively Cadfael was eyeing her, ‘I did not take it as a sign from heaven, when Father Ambrosuis told me that. It was just that the name prompted me to act, where before I was only wondering and fretting. Why not on his day? For I think, Brother, that you believe that Sulien Blount is not what he seems, not as open as he seems. I have been thinking and asking about this matter. I think things are so inclining, that he may be suspect of too much knowledge, in this matter of the poor dead woman your plough team found under the headland in the Potter’s Field. Too much knowledge, perhaps even guilt. Is it true?’
‘Too much knowledge, certainly,’ said Cadfael. ‘Guilt, that is mere conjecture, yet there is ground for suspicion.’ He owed her honesty, and she expected it.
‘Will you tell me,’ she said,’the whole story? For I know only what is gossiped around. Let me understand whatever danger he may be in. Guilt or no, he would not let another man be blamed unjustly.’
Cadfael told her the whole of it, from the first furrow cut by the abbey plough. She listened attentively and seriously, her round brow furrowed with thought. She could not and did not believe any evil of the young man who had visited her for so generous a purpose, but neither did she ignore the reasons why others might have doubts of him. At the end she drew breath long and softly, and gnawed her lip for a moment, pondering.
‘Do you believe him guilty?’ she asked then, pointblank.
‘I believe he has knowledge which he has not seen fit to reveal. More than that I will not say. All depends on whether he told us the truth about the ring.’
‘But Brother Ruald believes him?’ she said.
‘Without question.’
‘And he has known him from a child.’
‘And may be partial,’ said Cadfael, smiling. ‘But yes, he has more knowledge of the boy than either you or I, and plainly expects nothing less than truth from him.’
‘And so would I. But one thing I wonder at,’ said Pernel very earnestly. ‘You say that you think he knew of this matter before he went to visit his home, though he said he heard of it only there. If you are right, if he heard it from Brother Jerome before he went to ask leave to visit Longner, why did he not bring forth the ring at once, and tell what he had to tell? Why leave it until the next day? Whether he got the ring as he said, or had it in his possession from long before, he could have spared Brother Ruald one more night of wretchedness. So gentle a soul as he seems, why should he leave a man to bear such a burden an hour longer than he need, let alone a day?’
It was the one consideration which Cadfael had had at the back of his mind ever since the occasion itself, but did not yet know what to make of it. If Pernel’s mind was keeping in reserve the same doubt, let her speak for him, and probe beyond where he had yet cared to go. He said simply: ‘I have not pursued it. It would entail questioning Brother Jerome, which I should be loath to do until I am more sure of my ground. But I can think of only one reason. For some motive of his own, he wished to preserve the appearance of having heard of the case only when he paid his visit to Longner.’
‘Why should he want that?’ she challenged.
‘I suppose that he might well want to talk to his brother before he committed himself to anything. He had been away more than a year, he would want to ensure that his family was in no way threatened by a matter of which he had only just learned. Naturally he would be tender of their interests, all the more because he had not seen them for so long.’
To that she agreed, with a thoughtful and emphatic nod of her head. ‘Yes, so he would. But I can think of another reason why he delayed, and I am sure you are thinking of it, too.’
‘And that is?’
‘That he had not got it,’ said Pernel firmly, ‘and could not show it, until he had been home to fetch it.’
She had indeed spoken out bluntly and fearlessly, and Cadfael could not but admire her singlemindedness. Her sole belief was that Sulien was clean of any shadow of guilt, her sole purpose to prove it to the world, but her confidence in the efficacy of truth drove her to go headlong after it, certain that when found it must be on her side.
‘I know,’ she said, ‘I am making a case that may seem hurtful to him, but in the end it cannot be, because I am sure he has done no wrong. There is no way but to look at every possibility. I know you said that Sulien grew to love that woman, and said so himself, and if she did give her ring to another man, for spite against her husband, yes, it could have been to Sulien. But equally it could have been to someone else. And though I would not try to lift the curse from one man by throwing it upon another, Sulien was not the only young man close neighbour to the potter. Just as likely to be drawn to a woman every account claims was beautiful. If Sulien has guilty knowledge he cannot reveal, he could as well be shielding a brother as protecting himself. I cannot believe,’ she said vehemently,’that you have not thought of that possibility.’
‘I have thought of many possibilities,’ agreed Cadfael placidly, ‘without much by way of fact to support any. Yes, for either himself or his brother he might lie. Or for Ruald. But only if he knows, as surely as the sun will rise tomorrow, that our poor dead lady is indeed Generys. And never forget, there is also the possibility, however diminished since his efforts for Britric, that he was not lying, that Generys is alive and well, somewhere there in the eastlands, with the man she chose to follow. And we may never, never know who was the dark-haired woman someone buried with reverence in the Potter’s Field.’