Brother Cadfael 03: Monk's Hood

thought for his own situation, he had surely done enough now.
    He expected the name to raise a frown, and so it did, but Robert had offered a grace, and could not now withdraw it or set conditions upon it. With dignity he turned to the porter, who hovered at the door. "Ask Brother Cadfael to come here to us at once. You may tell him it is to give counsel and guidance to a prisoner."
    The porter departed. It was almost the hour for retirement, and most of the brothers would certainly be in the warming-room, but Cadfael was not there, nor was Brother Mark. The porter found them in the workshop in the garden, not even compounding mysteries, either, but sitting somewhat glumly, talking in low and anxious tones. The news of the capture had not yet gone round; by day it would have been known everywhere within minutes. It was common knowledge, of course, how the sheriff's men had spent their day, but it was not yet common knowledge with what an achievement they had crowned it.
    "Brother Cadfael, you're wanted at the gatehouse," announced the porter, leaning in at the doorway. And as Cadfael looked up at him in surprise: "There's a young fellow there asks for you as his spiritual adviser, though if you want my view, he's very much in command of his own spirit, and has let Prior Robert know it, too. A company of the sheriff's men rode in towards the end of Compline with a prisoner. Yes, they've taken young Gurney at last."
    So that was how it had ended, after all Mark's efforts and prayers, after all his own ineffective reasonings and seekings and faith. Cadfael got up in grieving haste. "I'll come to him. With all my heart I'll come. Now we have the whole battle on our hands, and little time left. The poor lad! But why have they not taken him straight into the town?" Though of that one small mercy he was glad, seeing he himself was confined within the abbey walls, and only this odd chance provided him with a brief meeting.
    "Why, the only thing they can charge him with, and nobody can question, is stealing the horse he rode off on this morning, and that was from our premises and our care, the abbey court has rights in it. In the morn they'll fetch him away on the count of murder."
    Brother Mark fell in at their heels and followed to the gatehouse, altogether cast down and out of comfort, unable to find a hopeful word to say. He felt in his heart that that was sin, the sin of despair; not despair for himself, but despair of truth and justice and right, and the future of wretched mankind. Nobody had bidden him attend, but he went, all the same, a soul committed to a cause about which, in fact, he knew very little, except the youth of the protagonist, and the absolute nature of Cadfael's faith in him, and that was enough.
    Cadfael entered the porter's room with a heavy heart but not in despair; it was a luxury he could not afford. All eyes turned upon him, understandably, since he entered upon a heavy silence. Robert had abandoned his kindly meant but patronising exhortations, and the men of law had given up the attempt to get any admissions out of their captive, and were content to see him safely under lock and key, and get to their beds in the castle. A ring of large, well-equipped men on guard round a willowy lad in country homespun, bareheaded and cloakless on a frosty night, who sat braced and neat and alert on a bench by the wall, pleasantly flushed now from the fire, and looking, incredibly, almost complacent. His eyes met Brother Cadfael's eyes, and danced; clear, dark-fringed, greenish eyes. His hair was light brown, like seasoned oak. He was lightly built but tall for his years. He was tired, sleepy, bruised and dirty, and behind the wary eyes and solemn face he was undoubtedly laughing.
    Brother Cadfael looked long, and understood much, enough at that moment to have no great worries about what as yet he did not understand. He looked round the attentive circle, looked last and longest at Prior Robert.
    "Father Prior, I am grateful that you sent for me, and I welcome the duty laid on me, to do what may be done for the prisoner. But I must tell you that these gentlemen are in some error. I cast no doubt on what they may have to report of how this boy was taken, but I do advise them to make enquiry how and where he spent this morning's hours, when he is said to have escaped from the abbey barn on the horse belonging to Mistress Bonel. Gentlemen," he informed the sheriff's bewildered patrol very gravely, "this is not