Brother Cadfael 04: St. Peter's Fair

killed in anger, perhaps simply gone too far in an assault meant only to injure, he might be wise enough to strip his victim, to make it appear the work of common robbers, and turn attention away from himself. There is much work to be done yet in this case, but meantime Corviser must remain in hold. I should be failing in my duty if I turned him loose, even to your care, master provost." And the sheriff ordered, with a motion of his hand: "Take him away!"
    Philip was slow to move, until the butt of a lance prodded him none too gently in the side. Even then he kept his chin on his shoulder for some paces, and his eyes desperately fixed upon Emma's distressed and doubting face. "I did not touch him," he said, plucked forcibly away towards the door through which his guards had brought him. "I pray you, believe me!" Then he was gone, and the hearing was over.
    Out in the great court they paused to draw grateful breath, released from the shadowy oppression of the hall. Roger Dod hovered, with hungry eyes upon Emma.
    "Mistress, shall I attend you back to the barge? Or will you have me go straight back to the booth? I had Gregory go there to help Warin, while I had to be absent, but trade was brisking up nicely, they'll be hard pushed by now. If that's what you want? To work the fair as he'd have worked it?"
    "That is what I want," she said firmly. "To do all as he would have done. You go straight back to the horse-fair, Roger. I shall be staying with Lady Beringar at the abbey for this while, and Brother Cadfael will escort me."
    The journeyman louted, and left them, without a backward glance. But the very rear view of him, sturdy, stiff and aware, brought back to mind the intensity of his dark face and burning, embittered eyes. Emma watched him go, and heaved a helpless sigh.
    "I am sure he is a good man, I know he is a good servant, and has stood loyally by my uncle many years. So he would by me, after his fashion. And I do respect him, I must! I think I could like him, if only he would not want me to love him!"
    "It's no new problem," said Cadfael sympathetically. "The lightning strikes where it will. One flames, and the other remains cold. Distance is the only cure."
    "So I think," said Emma fervently. "Brother Cadfael, I must go to the barge, to bring away some more clothes and things I need. Will you go with me?"
    He understood at once that this was an opportune time. Both Warin and Gregory were coping with customers at the booth, and Roger was on his way to join them. The barge would be riding innocently beside the jetty, and no man aboard to trouble her peace. Only a monk of the abbey, who did not trouble it at all. "Whatever you wish," he said. "I have leave to assist you in all your needs."
    He had rather expected that Ivo Corbiere would come to join her once they were out of the hall, but he did not. It was in Cadfael's mind that she had expected it, too. But perhaps the young man had decided that it was hardly worthwhile making a threesome with the desired lady and a monastic attendant, who clearly had his mandate, and would not consent to be dislodged. Cadfael could sympathise with that view, and admire his discretion and patience. There were two days of the fair left yet, and the great court of the abbey was not so great but guests could meet a dozen times a day. By chance or by rendezvous!
    Emma was very silent on the way back through the town. She had nothing to say until they emerged from the shadow of the gate into full sunlight again, above the glittering bow of the river. Then she said suddenly: "It was good of Ivo to speak so reasonably for the young man." And on the instant, as Cadfael flashed a glance to glimpse whatever lay behind the words, she flushed almost as deeply as the unlucky lad Philip had blushed on beholding her a witness to his shame.
    "It was very sound sense," said Cadfael, amiably blind. "Suspicion there may be, but proof there's none, not yet. And you set him a pace in generosity he could not but admire."
    The flush did not deepen, but it was already bright as a rose. On her ivory, silken face, so young and unused, it was touching and becoming.
    "Oh, no," she said, "I only told simple truth. I could do no other." Which again was simple truth, for nothing in her life thus far had corrupted her valiant purity. Cadfael had begun to feel a strong fondness for this orphan girl who shouldered her load without timidity or complaint, and still had an open heart for the burdens of others. "I