Brother Cadfael 03: Monk's Hood

to catch the muted sound of voices. Not muted by distance, close and deliberately quiet. The dry grass rustled. In the edge of the trees one of the tethered horses whinnied enquiringly, giving notice of other horses approaching.
    "Not Welsh!" said Ifor in a soundless whisper. "English! Edwin, go into the other room."
    The boy obeyed instantly and silently; but in a moment he was back, shadowy in the doorway. "They're there - two, outside the window. In leather, armed ..."
    The voices had drawn nearer, outside the house-door, their whispers grew louder, satisfied, abandoning stealth.
    "That's the pied beast ... no mistaking it!"
    "What did I tell you? I said if we found the one we'd find the other."
    Someone laughed, low and contentedly. Then abruptly a fist thudded at the door, and the same voice called aloud, peremptorily: "Open to the law!" The formality was followed up immediately by a strong thrust, hurling the door inwards to the wall, and the doorway was filled by the burly figure of the bearded sergeant from Shrewsbury, with two men-at-arms at his back. Brother Cadfael and William Warden confronted each other at a distance of a couple of feet; mutual recognition made the one bristle and the other grin.
    "Well met, Brother Cadfael! And sorry I am I have no writ for you, but my business is with the young man behind you. I'm addressed to Edwin Gurney. And you, I think, my lad, are he?"
    Edwin came forward a step from the inner doorway, pale as his shirt and huge-eyed, but with a chin jutting valiantly, and a stare like a levelled lance. He had learned a great deal in his few days here. "That is my name," he said.
    "Then I arrest you on suspicion of the murder of Gervase Bonel by poison, and I'm here to take you back in custody to answer the charge in Shrewsbury."
    Chapter Nine
    Ifor ap Morgan drew himself up in a single long breath, seeming to grow half a head in the process, and stood forth to face his unexpected visitor.
    "Fellow," he said in his deep voice, in itself a weapon, "I am the master of this house, and you have not, as yet, addressed yourself to me. There are visitors I invite, there are some I welcome, unexpected. You I do not know and have not invited, and you I do not welcome. Have the courtesy to make yourself known to me, if you have business with me or with others under my roof. Otherwise, leave this house."
    It could not be said that the sergeant was abashed, since he was protected by his office from any personal humiliation; but he did make a shrewd appraisal of this venerable person, and abate what would otherwise have been a boldly abrasive manner. "I understand that you are Ifor ap Morgan. I am William Warden, a sergeant serving under Gilbert Prestcote, the sheriff of Shropshire, and I am in pursuit of Edwin Gurney on suspicion of murder. My commission is to bring him by. whatever means to Shrewsbury, where the charge stands, and that I shall do, as I am bound. You also, as an elder of this region, are bound by law."
    "But not by English law," said Ifor simply.
    "By law! Knowing murder for murder, by whatever law. Murder by poison, grandsire!"
    Brother Cadfael glanced once at Edwin, who stood motionless and pale, one hand advanced to take the old man pleadingly and comfortingly by the arm, but too much in awe and love of him to complete the gesture. Cadfael did it for him, laying a hand gently on the lean old wrist. For whatever was done and said now, they would take the boy with them. If there were three of them there, and two guarding the rear of the house, who was to stop them? And this was a self-assured, arrogant man, who might take petty revenges for past impudent reverses, but who would also have full regard for his own skin when dealing with a deputy sheriff of Beringar's measure, who might unaccountably have strict scruples about the handling of prisoners. Better not alienate Warden unnecessarily, when a little sweet reasonableness might do more to protect Edwin.
    "Sergeant, you know me, and know I do not believe this boy has any guilt to answer for. But I know you, too, and know you have your duty to do. You must obey your orders, and we cannot stand in your way. Tell me, was it Hugh Beringar sent you here to look for me? For I'm sure I was not followed from Shrewsbury. What brought you to this house?"
    The sergeant was by no means averse to detailing his own cleverness. "No, we never thought to have you followed, brother, after you left us, for we thought you were bound back to