Brother Cadfael 03: Monk's Hood

your own size, and slip it into my cell and out of sight under my bed before you sleep. It may not be needed, but ..."
    "Enough!" Brother Mark was cheerful and unquestioning, though that did not prove he was not doing some hard and accurate thinking. "Will you be needing a scissor for the tonsure, too?"
    "You are growing remarkably saucy," observed Cadfael, but with approval rather than disapproval. "No, I doubt that would be welcomed, we'll rely on the cowl, and a chilly morning. Go away, boy, go and get your half-hour of warmth, and go to bed."
    The concoction of a syrup, boiled up lengthily and steadily with dried herbs and honey, made the use of the brazier necessary; should a guest have to spend the night in the workshop, he would be snug enough until morning. In no haste, Cadfael ground his herbs to a finer powder, and began to stir the honeyed brew on the hob over his brazier. There was no certainty that the bait he had laid would be taken, but beyond doubt young Edwin Gurney was in urgent need of a friend and protector to help him out of the morass into which he had fallen. There was no certainty, even, that the Bellecote household knew where to find him, but Cadfael had a shrewd inkling that the eleven-year-old Alys of the matronly dignity and the maidenly silence, even if she were not in her own brother's confidence, would be very well acquainted with what he probably considered his secrets. Where Edwy was, there would Edwin be, if Richildis had reported them truly. When trouble threatened the one, the other would be by his side. It was a virtue Cadfael strongly approved.
    The night was very still, there would be sharp frost by dawn. Only the gently bubbling of his brew and the occasional rustling of his own sleeve as he stirred punctured the silence. He had begun to think that the fish had refused the bait, when he caught, past ten o'clock, and in the blackest of the darkness, the faint, slow sound of the door-latch being carefully raised. A breath of cold air came in as the door opened a hair's-breadth. He sat still and gave no sign; the frightened wild thing might be easily alarmed. After a moment a very light, young, wary voice outside uttered just above a whisper: "Brother Cadfael ... ?"
    "I'm here," said Cadfael quietly. "Come in and welcome."
    "You're alone?" breathed the voice.
    "I am. Come in and close the door."
    The boy stole in fearfully, and pushed the door to at his back, but Cadfael noticed that he did not latch it. "I got word ..." He was not going to say through whom. "They told me you spoke with my sister and brother this evening, and said you would be here. I do need a friend ... You said you knew my gr- my mother, years ago, you are the Cadfael she used to speak about so often, the one who went to the Crusade ... I swear I had no part in my stepfather's death! I never knew any harm had come to him, till I was told the sheriff's men were hunting for me as a murderer. You said my mother knows you for a good friend, and can rely on your help, so I've come to you. There's no one else I can turn to. Help me! Please help me!"
    "Come to the fire," said Cadfael mildly, "and sit down here. Draw breath and answer me one thing truly and solemnly, and then we can talk. On your soul, mind! Did you strike the blow that laid Gervase Bonel dead in his blood!"
    The boy had perched himself gingerly on the edge of the bench, almost but not quite within touch. The light from the brazier, cast upwards over his face and form, showed a rangy, agile youngster, lightly built but tall for his years, in the long hose and short cotte of the country lads, with capuchon dangling at his back, and a tangled mop of curling hair uncovered. By this reddish light it looked chestnut-brown, by daylight it might well be the softer mid-brown of seasoned oak. His face was still childishly rounded of cheek and chin, but fine bones were beginning to give it a man's potential. At this moment half the face was two huge, wary eyes staring unwaveringly at Brother Cadfael.
    Most earnestly and vehemently the boy said: "I never raised hand against him. He insulted me in front of my mother, and I hated him then, but I did not strike him. I swear it on my soul!"
    Even the young, when bright in the wits and very much afraid, may exercise all manner of guile to protect themselves, but Cadfael was prepared to swear there was no deceit here. The boy really did not know how Bonel had been killed; that could not have been reported to his family