Brother Cadfael 02: One Corpse Too Many

of FitzAlan's northern manors. He gave his name as Torold Blund.'
    They had told him all they knew, and something more than had been said in words. Edric's brooding frown spoke for him. The young man they knew and trusted was dead, the one they did not know vanished, and with him FitzAlan's valuables, plate and coin and jewellery, intended for the empress's coffers. Enough to tempt any man. The murderer clearly knew all he needed to know in order to get possession of that hoard; and who could have known half so well as the second courier himself? Another might certainly waylay the prize on the road. Torold Blund need not even have waited for that. Those two had been in hiding together all that day in Edric's barn. It was possible that Nicholas Faintree had never left it until he was dead, draped over a horse for the short ride back to the castle ditch, before two horses with one rider set out westward into Wales.
    'There was one more thing happened that day,' said Petronilla, as Cadfael rose to take his leave. 'About two of the clock, after the king's men had manned both bridges and dropped the draw-bridge, he came - Hugh Beringar, he that was betrothed to my girl from years back - making pretence to be all concern for her, and asking where he could find her. Tell him? No, what do you take me for? I told him she'd been taken away a good week before the town fell, and we were not told where, but I thought she was far away by now, and safe out of Stephen's country. Right well we knew he must have come to us with Stephen's authority, or he would never have been let through so soon. He'd been to the king's camp before ever he came hunting for my Godith, and it's not for love he's searching for her. She's worth a fat commission, as bait for her father, if not for FitzAlan himself. Don't let my lamb get within his sight, for I hear he's living in the abbey now.'
    'And he was here that very afternoon?' pressed Cadfael, concerned. 'Yes, yes, I'll take good care to keep her away from him, I've seen that danger. But there could not have been any mention when he came here, could there, of Faintree's mission? Nothing to make him prick his ears? He's very quick, and very private! No - no, I ask your pardon, I know you'd never let out word. Ah, well, my thanks for your help, and you shall know if I make progress.'
    He was at the door when Petronilla said grievingly at his shoulder: 'And he seemed such a fine young lad, this Torold Blund! How can a body tell what lies behind the decent, ordinary face?'
    'Torold Blund!' said Godith, testing the name slow syllable by syllable. 'That's a Saxon name. There are plenty of them up there in the northern manors, good blood and old. But I don't know him. I think I can never have seen him. And Nicholas was on good, close terms with him? Nicholas was easy, but not stupid, and they sound much of an age, he must have known him well. And yet ...'
    'Yes,' said Cadfael, 'I know! And yet! Girl dear, I am too tired to think any more. I'm going to Compline, and then to my bed, and so should you. And tomorrow ...'
    'Tomorrow,' she said, rising to the touch of his hand, 'we shall bury Nicholas. We! He was in some measure my friend, and I shall be there.'
    'So you shall, my heart,' said Cadfael, yawning, and led her away in his arm to celebrate, with gratitude and grief and hope, the ending of the day.
    Chapter Five
    Nicholas Faintree was laid, with due honours, under a stone in the transept of the abbey church, an exceptional privilege. He was but one, after so many, and his singleness was matter for celebration, besides the fact that there was room within rather than without, and the labour involved was less. Abbot Heribert was increasingly disillusioned and depressed with all the affairs of this world, and welcomed a solitary guest who was not a symbol of civil war, but the victim of personal malice and ferocity. Against all the probabilities, in due course Nicholas might find himself a saint. He was mysterious, feloniously slain, young, to all appearances clean of heart and life, innocent of evil, the stuff of which martyrs are made.
    Aline Seward was present at the funeral service, and had brought with her, intentionally or otherwise, Hugh Beringar. That young man made Cadfael increasingly uneasy. True, he was making no inimical move, nor showing any great diligence in his search for his affianced bride, if, indeed, he was in search of her at all. But there was something daunting in the very ease