When the boy had gone, with his curiosity still unsatisfied, Cadfael sat still and silent, at last admitting into his thoughts the realisation of which even his mind had been fighting shy. For the murderer, so well persuaded now of his own skill, feeling himself invulnerable, would not give up now. Having come so far, he would not turn back. Well, his time was short. He had only this one night left, though he did not know it, and he neither would nor could attempt anything against Judith now, in her own home, with Sister Magdalen keeping her formidable company. He would prefer to bide his time, unaware that tomorrow was to see an ending.
Cadfael started erect, causing the lamp to flicker. No, not against Judith! But if he was so sure of himself, then he had still this one night to try again to conserve the house in the Foregate, for tomorrow the rose rent would be paid, and for another year the abbey’s title would be unassailable. If Judith was not vulnerable, the rose-bush still was.
He told himself that he was being a superstitious fool, that no one, not even a criminal at once lulled and exhilarated by success, would dare venture anything again so soon, but by the time he had completed even the thought he found himself halfway across the garden, heading at a hasty walk out into the great court, and making for the gatehouse. Here on familiar ground darkness was no impediment, and tonight the sky was clear, and there were stars, though fine as pinpricks in the midnight blackness. Along the Foregate it was very quiet, nothing moving but the occasional prowling cat among the alleys. But somewhere ahead, near the corner of the abbey wall at the horse-fair ground, there was a small, vibrating glow in the sky, low down behind the house-roofs, and its quivering alternately lit them into black silhouette and quenched them again in the common darkness. Cadfael began to run. Then he heard, distant and muted, the flurry of many voices in half-unbelieving alarm, and suddenly the glow was swallowed up in a great burst of flame, that fountained into the sky with a crackling of wood and thorn. The babble of voices became an uproar of men shouting and women shrilling, and all the Foregate dogs baying echoes from wall to wall along the highway.
Doors were opening, men running out into the roadway, pulling on hose and coats as they came and breaking into shuffling, entangled motion towards the fire. Questions flew at random, and were not answered because no one as yet knew the answers. Cadfael arrived among the rest at the gate of Niall’s yard, which already stood wide. Through the wicket into the garden the poppy-red glow glared, quivering, and above the crest of the wall the column of fire soared, breathing upward a whirlwind of burning air and spinning flakes of ash, double a tall man’s height, to dissolve into the darkness. Thank God, thought Cadfael at sight of its vertical ascent, there’s no wind, it won’t reach either the house or the farrier’s loft on the other side. And by the fury and noise of it, it may burn out quickly. But he knew already what he would see as he stepped through the wicket.
In the middle of the rear wall the rose-bush was a great globe of flames, roaring like a furnace and crackling like the breaking of bones as the thorns spat and writhed in the heat. The fire had reached the old, crabbed vine, but beyond that there was nothing but the stone wall to feed it. The fruit trees were far enough removed to survive, though their nearer branches might be scorched. But nothing, nothing but blackened, outspread arms and white wood-ash, would be left of the rose-bush. Against the blinding brightness of the flames a few helpless figures circled and flinched away, unable to approach. Water thrown from a safe distance exploded into steam and vanished in a frantic hissing, but did no good. They had given up the attempt to fight it, and stood back, dangling buckets, to watch the old, gnarled bole, so many years fruitful, twist and split and groan in its death-agony.
Niall had drawn back to the wall opposite, and stood watching with a soiled, discouraged face and drawn brows. Cadfael came to his side, and the brown head turned to acknowledge his coming, and nodded brief recognition before turning back again to resume his interrupted watch.
“How did he get this furnace going?” asked Cadfael. “Not with simple flint and steel and tinder, that’s certain, and you in the house. It would have taken him a good quarter-hour to get beyond the first smoulder.”
“He came the same way,” said Niall, without removing his bleak gaze from the tower of smoke and spinning ash surging up into the sky, “Through the paddock at the back, where the ground’s higher. He never even entered the garden this time. He must have poured oil over the wall on to the bush and the vine - drenched them in oil. And then he dropped a torch over. Well alight
And he away in the dark. And there’s nothing we can do, nothing!”
Nothing any man could do, except stand back from the heat and watch, as very gradually the first fury began to slacken, and the blackened branches to sag from the wall and collapse into the blazing heart of the fire, sending up drifts of fine grey ash that soared upwards like a flight of moths. Nothing except be thankful that the wall behind was of solid stone, and would not carry the fire towards either human habitation.
“It was dear to her,” said Niall bitterly.
“It was. But at least she has her life still,” said Cadfael, “and has rediscovered its value. And she knows who to thank for the gift, next after God.”
Niall said nothing to that, but continued grimly to watch as the fire, appeased, began to settle into a bed of crimson, and the flying moths of ash to drift about the garden, no longer torn headlong upward by the draught. The neighbours stood back, satisfied that the worst was over, and began gradually to drift away, back to their beds. Niall heaved a great breath, and shook himself out of his daze.
“I had been thinking,” he said slowly, “of bringing my little girl home here today. We were talking of it only the other night, that I should do well to have her with me, now she’s no longer a babe. But now I wonder! With such a madman haunting this house, she’s safer where she is.”
“Yes,” said Cadfael, rousing, “yes, do that, bring her home! You need not fear. After tomorrow, Niall, this madman will haunt you no more. I promise it!”
The day of Saint Winifred’s translation dawned fine and sunny, with a fresh breeze that sprang up only with the light, and drifted the stench of burning across the roofs of the Foregate as inevitably as the first labourer to cross the bridge brought the news of the fire into the town. It reached the Vestier shop as soon as the shutters were taken down and the first customer entered. Miles came bursting into the solar with a face of consternation, like someone charged with bad news and uncertain how to convey it delicately.
“Judith, it seems we’re not done yet with the ill luck that hangs around your rose-bush. There’s yet one more strange thing happened, I heard it just this moment. No need for you to trouble too much, no one is dead or hurt this time, it’s not so terribly grave. But I know it will distress you, all the same.”
So long and deprecating a preamble was not calculated to reassure her, in spite of its soothing tone. She rose from the window-bench where she was sitting with Sister Magdalen. “What is it now? What was there left that could happen?”
“There’s been a fire in the night - someone set fire to the rose-bush. It’s burned, every leaf, burned down to the bole, so they’re saying. There can’t be a bud or a twig left, let alone a flower to pay your rent.”
“The house?” she demanded, aghast. “Did that take fire? Was there damage? No harm to Niall? Only the bush?”
“No, no, nothing else touched, never fret for the smith, nor for the house, they’re safe enough. They’d have said if anyone had been harmed. Now, be easy, it’s over!” He took her by the shoulders, very gently and brotherly, smiling into her face. “Over now, and no one the worse. Only that plaguey bush gone, and I say just as well, considering all the mischief it’s caused. Such a queer bargain to make, you’re well rid of it.”